


Meant to Break the Laws of Gravity Too

by BetsyByron



Series: We Were Meant to Make a Thing or Two [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Bullying, Canon Rewrite, Fluff, Friendship, Good Dudley Dursley, Good Petunia Dursley, Magic, Minor Character Death, Mischief, Nice Petunia Dursley, Plot Twists, Pre-Slash, Rewrite, Sassy Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25067902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: Do you ever feel like you want to read Harry Potter for the first time again? This fic’s for you!What if losing someone added something to your life instead? What could Harry’s childhood have been like if Vernon Dursley hadn’t been in it? How could Draco’s have turned up if he hadn’t grown up in Lucius Malfoy’s shadow?Canon-divergent rewrite of the books, based on how the absence of these two minor, but nevertheless key characters would change things, with OTPs and other liberties taken.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: We Were Meant to Make a Thing or Two [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815517
Comments: 70
Kudos: 342





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book one of this rewrite is almost complete, so while I can’t promise I will get to the end of rewriting all 7 books (I have a full-time job, it’ll take years!), this one for certain will not be abandoned. 
> 
> I just have to undertake the process of proofreading each chapter before posting, I don’t have a beta; this whole instalment is over 60k, and some of it was written many months ago. Also I suppose I may tweak some aspects based on comments and feedback! 
> 
> So first here is a small prologue as a teaser, with some notes of what to expect in this fic further down.

Petunia Dursley had not realised her entire life revolved around her husband until after she lost him. She saw herself as a devoted wife and a devoted mother; she was now finding out that, Vernon gone, she did not know who she was anymore. She had become a Dursley, as part of thoroughly rejecting her sister when she herself became Lily Potter, to such an extent that Petunia Evans seemed to no longer exist. Sitting in her empty living room, that night after the wake, the overwhelming scent of flowers around her, and all the commiserating acquaintances having finally left, she looked at Dudley curled up on the sofa, her little boy of four who would probably not remember his father. She looked at her nephew Harry, asleep next to him, who would definitely not remember his. He would not remember his mother either, and Petunia found herself feeling a wave of sorrow for the loss of her sister, one she hadn't felt before and that overtook the grief she knew she should be feeling towards her dearly departed husband. 

Taking Harry in had been the only thing she had strongly stood up to Vernon about. She had not shown him a lot of love after this, but she had been able to tell herself she was honouring her sister's memory by not sending him off to a children's home, like Vernon had suggested. Now she looked at the two boys, with suddenly more in common than they should have, she thought it wasn't too late to do right by them, right by Harry, right by Lily, and even by Lily’s husband, as much as she had hated the mere idea of him; he really had only been a stupid teenager, who had never gotten the chance to grow into anything else. If Dudley deserved to know good things about his father growing up, then Harry did too. And if Petunia Dursley had never taken the time to treat him right - maybe Petunia Evans could.

* *

*

Draco Malfoy had been raised as a prince until he was six years old, and he had firmly believed up to that point that wealth and reputation, of which his family had plenty, meant you were unattainable, and nothing bad could really happen to you. It had been true for a while. When he was six years old, however, he had had to realise that Death did not care how much money, nobility and influence you had - He would come for you if you found yourself in the way of an explosive curse concealed inside a tin of Gummy Dragons. After his father had died in the attack on the ministry, the terrorist had been caught and, incidentally, the sweets discontinued, Draco started to realise that there were different ways in which to be fortunate. 

When he saw Arthur Weasley at the funeral, presenting his condolences to his mother alongside other colleagues, he wondered why he'd ever thought the Weasley children were unlucky losers. They still had a father. And if Arthur had been hit by that parcel-bomb instead of Lucius, they would have had each other - all staggering seven of them. Draco knew enough to realise that, with the loss of his father, he was losing the chance at a sibling. By the time he was seven years old, Draco had fully started thinking for himself. He could no longer base his beliefs and convictions on the sole fact that his father had said so. His father was dead. Who was to tell him who was worth his time, who to avoid or befriend? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continue reading? Not sure? Here’s what to expect in this fic:
> 
> \- Obviously, the minor character deaths are Vernon and Lucius, and they have already happened before the story really starts.  
> \- Endgame is Drarry, so I tagged it + they do have a relationship as friends, but in this first book, well, they’re 11-12 years old, so not much slash will be happening. Other relationships will be tagged as they develop in the next parts.  
> \- This fic redeems Petunia and Dudley, be prepared to (hopefully) like them. They’re truly Harry’s family.  
> \- This isn’t exactly a Nice!Snape fic, but he is Draco’s godfather, and Draco and Harry are friends, therefore some of his nicer sides are shown.  
> \- No strict Dumbledore-bashing, but he’s not exactly a positive figure either.  
> \- Harry’s friendship with Ron and Hermione is still central, but it will be less of a “Golden Trio” because of Harry actually growing up with Dudley as a cousin/friend, and a larger group of friends at Hogwarts, namely Draco, Neville more prominently, and Anthony.  
> \- I've not tagged all the characters who have talking parts, because the list would be too long; I will add them if they grow into more significant roles further down the line.
> 
> I don’t have many headcannons for what my characters look like, except:  
> \- Nolan Gould (think Luke from Modern family) is exactly how I picture Dudley in this verse, both as a kid and teenager (except not American)  
> \- I can’t unsee Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen as Draco (except not Danish)  
> \- Jenna Thiam is 100% my Lily (except not Belgian)  
> Other than that, I do see Petunia as blond and a lot happier-looking than her depiction in the films, not fully settled on it but Anne Consigny comes to mind (except not French).  
> I do like the idea of Harry with darker skin, but I’m not sure that’s how I picture him here. I’ve not found my perfect cast!
> 
> (Yes you’ve noticed? Most of my titles are from song lyrics. This one is “Trustful Hands” by The Dø.)


	2. July

Petunia had reached the conclusion over the years that there was a very strong chance Harry was as magical as his parents had been. All sorts of odd little things happening around him pointed to it, and reminded her of Lily at the same age. She tried to nurture the boy without encouraging it – she was making amends for rejecting her sister and calling her a freak when she should have been there for her, venturing into a whole new scary world, but as far as she was concerned, until confirmed otherwise, Harry was part of _this_ world, and she would not have her children tagged up as weirdos.

She had aimed to raise both boys as her own. It had simply been easier, after Vernon’s death and without his constant and vocal scorn of Harry, to have one set of rules and plans for both toddlers. And she had noticed that Ley, growing up sharing with his cousin, had quickly become less fussy and entitled than in the first few years of his life. Now almost eleven years old, the two boys were thick as thieves, and brothers in all but parentage. 

Which would make it very difficult to explain to them that they could not be together in school the following year. Petunia sat at the edge of her bed, turning the thick letter over in her hands. She had not opened it yet, but she knew what it was. She remembered the elegant calligraphy on the front, the crest at the back, and the rage and jealousy she had felt when Lily had received hers. Looking back now, she knew she had herself to blame for the way she had reacted, but she could also recognise, without resentment, that the way her parents had handled the news at the time and gushed over her little sister had played a big part in turning her into a bitter teenager and a scornful young woman. She would have to handle this the right way for both Harry and Dudley.

She waited until after dinner that night, which was an unruly affair. The summer holidays were in full swing, and released from the obligations of school, both boys were wired up and managing even more mischief than they usually would. As Petunia was working full time, they couldn’t leave Little Whinging, but they would find enough to keep themselves busy in and around the house, meeting up with friends, dreaming up adventures and pulling pranks around the neighbourhood. She had told them this year they were old enough to watch themselves, emphasising ideas of trust and responsibility in the hope that some of it would sink in, but in reality, she got along with her neighbours well enough that everyone knew they were unofficially, collectively keeping an eye on the children, hers and all the other kids who hadn’t left for the holidays. They did say it took a village.

“Auntie, you okay?” Harry broke her out of her reverie. He was a very intuitive kid, Petunia had noticed. Not the most academic, going by his school grades (though a lot of that could be due to his and Ley’s constant goofing around) but he was perceptive and quick to react. She thought he’d probably make a good policeman, or detective. She wondered if the magical world had an equivalent.

“I’m fine.” She smiled at him.

He had never called her Mum, even after she had properly starting raising him, and not just hosting him. She had made a point of telling him about his parents, mostly Lily – she did not know much about James Potter. She had most definitely **not** gone into the details of their death, and she had not mentioned the small fact that they were a witch and wizard. Until now.

“I need to speak to you both, once we have cleared the table.”

“It wasn’t us.” Ley blurted out, and Hal kicked him under the table.

Petunia frowned at her son. “Whatever you haven’t done, I dare hope it will be fixed by the time I hear about it.” She said sternly. As up to no good as they could get, she was very capable of putting the fear of God in them, thank you very much.

When the kitchen was clean, they went to sit in the front room, and Petunia handed Harry his letter. He looked a little puzzled, but he opened it without asking what it was, and read it quietly. Ley was fidgeting opposite him, but he stilled when he saw how serious Harry’s face had gone.

“Is this a joke?” Harry asked.

“No.” Petunia said, her voice tight.

This was it. Time not to mess it up.

“Hal, darling, I have not told you this before, because I wasn’t sure if this would be relevant, but you are now old enough, and well, this letter confirms it - you…”

She sighed. The words ‘You’re a wizard, Harry’ sounded incredibly silly.

“Magic is real.” She said firmly. “There is a community of people with the ability to use it – from what I understand, it is a small minority, and they prefer not to make themselves known to the rest of the world.”

Both boys were looking at her like she had grown an extra head. She had always tried to encourage their imagination, but she was a very down-to-earth woman, and she could see that it seemed very out of character for her to be talking about magic like this. She would have been worried if they had taken this in stride with no amount of surprise, actually. 

“Lily…” She continued. “Your mother got a letter just like this when she was your age. We found out she was one of these people, she had magic. She went to this school to learn how to use it.” She pointed at the letter. “She met your father there, and you… you are like them. I wasn’t sure you would be.” She said again in way of an apology, for not telling him sooner this rather significant piece of information about his parents, about himself.

“I have magic?” Hal spoke after a moment of silence, bewildered. To Petunia’s surprise, he then turned to Ley, looking ecstatic. “I _told_ you! I told you!”

“There is still no way you made it rain.” Ley argued.

Petunia wasn’t sure what this was about, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know either.

“There’s been odd coincidences.” Hal provided helpfully, turning back to his aunt. “It actually makes perfect sense that it was magic.”

“You’re taking this very well.” She commended him.

“Hey, what about me?” Ley piped up. “Maybe I have magic too?”

Petunia brushed his hair off his forehead with a small smile. “No, honey, I’m sorry. You would have gotten the letter at the same time.”

Ley sagged in disappointment, but it didn’t last very long, as he snatched the letter from Harry’s hands to read it for himself. “This sounds ridiculous.” He commented. “I get why these people don’t want the rest of the world to know about them.”

Hal snorted. “Yeah, I’m not sure how I feel about the _pointed hat_ that’s part of the uniform.”

Ley laughed out loud. “And I thought Smelting’s stupid tie and blazer were bad. Sucks to be you, mate.” 

“Dudley, language.” Petunia said reflexively, with no real conviction. She was looking at the list over Harry’s shoulder with no small amount of concern. “Where will we find all these things?”

“There’s information.” Hal showed her.

Underneath the acceptance letter addressed to him and the list of school supplies were a number of pages that, Hal guessed, were sent as standard to children who did not live among wizards. 

One was from the _Department of Magical Education - Division for the Assistance of Muggleborn Students in Essential Logistics and Systems_ , where they could write back should they prefer not to use an owl (Hal ad Ley exchanged a look and tried not to laugh, only chastened by how seriously Petunia was reading all this nonsense) also informing them that their representatives could be found in Diagon Alley – another address and instructions to enter a pub and ask for the DAMSELS were included – to help them with their shopping. 

There was an insert from a bank, with information and exchange rates to change pounds for things called galleons and sickles (five pounds to a galleon, that sounded like a fairly strong currency). 

The last one was a page in aggressive font laying out the details of the “Statute of Secrecy” and promising immediate Ministry intervention should magic be revealed in any convincing way, whether by mention or demonstration, to anyone outside the household. Beneath the standard template, the addition read:

_In the case of Mr Harry James Potter, as follows:_

**_Petunia Dursley, maternal aunt and guardian_ **

**_Dudley Dursley, maternal first cousin_ **

Harry felt a little heartache at the very short list. That’s it, he thought. My entire family. A thought struck him – or was it?

“Do I have any magical relatives?”

“I don’t think so.” Petunia said softly, looking up and taking Hal’s hand. “Your father was an only child and his parents passed...”

She knew this from one of Lily’s letters. An attempt at reconnecting with her sister, which Petunia had ignored. She had kept the letters, a part of her still then reluctant to throw them away, but had only read them years later.

“Your parents had very good friends.” She carried on. “But after they died… I’m not sure where they are now.”

She squeezed Hal’s hand, omitting the details she had read with horror in Lily’s letters. _There is a war on, Tuney. People are dying._

“I guess they lost touch.” Hal figured, trying not to feel bitter about the fact that these _very good friends_ had apparently never cared to try and meet him.

“I suppose they did.” Petunia had never tried to find out.

She remembered the one magical friend of Lily’s she had met as a child, and that seemed more than enough. She knew the friends Lily and James had made at school could not possibly all have been as unpleasant as this boy, but she wasn’t interested enough to seek them out.

“It’s easy to be close when you live together for years, but after school…”

“Wait.” Ley held up a hand. “This is a _boarding school_?”

Petunia took a deep breath. This was another hard pill to swallow. 

“I’m afraid so.” She confirmed. “This is all the way up in Scotland, we wouldn’t be able to commute there. But from what I understand, all students are staying there, the study of magic is quite… immersive. And the school is protected, so you are not meant to leave the grounds during term time.” 

She realised she remembered a lot more than she’d thought, from Lily’s excited retelling of her first year at school, twenty years ago, even if she had told herself back then that she wasn’t listening to a word of this nonsense. 

“Hal will be back for Christmas and Easter.” She said, trying to make that sound like something positive, and hoping he actually would. 

Lily had only been back for Christmas for two years, and Easter only the first one. From third year, she had remained at Hogwarts over the holidays, with her like-minded friends, and had been off visiting magical communities most of her summers. She had always been an independent one, had Lily. Petunia could see that trait in Harry too, and had no doubt he would grow up fast once he was off to that school, and that Surrey would very soon be much too small a world for him.

But Harry turned to Dudley with a determined look, and Petunia knew that stubbornness - he got that from Lily, too.

“I’m not gone yet, Ley.” He assured his cousin. 

There was a twinkle in his eyes, and Petunia had no doubt they would manage somehow twice as much mischief now, in the time they had left before they went to different schools. This, Hal didn’t get from Lily, she thought. Her sister hadn’t exactly been a goody-two-shoe, she was a lot more formidable than that in her time, but she wasn’t a prankster. While Petunia had never really known James Potter, she knew she could tell the boy with some confidence that he was just like his father in that respect.

Heavens knew where Dudley got it from.

* *

*

On the morning of Hal’s birthday, while the boys were still sleeping, Petunia went up in the loft to recover a biscuit tin she had not thought about in a very long time. She had, in fact, only remembered it existed when seeing the Hogwarts letter come through the post. Considering it had been given to her by her sister’s worthless husband, or so did she think of him at the time, it was a miracle she had disdainfully stashed it in old belongings rather than putting it straight in the bin. But she remembered his words as he’d urged her to take the tin. “When they turn eleven.”

Petunia had met James Potter exactly twice in her life. The first time, when Lily was thirteen, and they had gone to pick her up from the train station – their parents had insisted to ‘make a day of it’ and dragged Petunia along. They weren’t even friends at the time, Lily and James, although it appeared the latter already had a crush on the former. Petunia saw the boy as nothing else but an unruly, unmanageable child, who had been shouting from the other end of the platform at her sister (‘See you next year, Evans! My heart will remain yours forever! Write to me!’). 

The second time was at Mr and Mrs Evans’ funeral. The whole thing had been a sordid affair. The couple had died in hospital over the winter after both contracting a bad bout of influenza, two days apart, so the burials had been arranged together. Their two daughters were still only young, and were barely speaking to each other. Petunia, about 3 months pregnant with Dudley, had been throwing up all morning and was barely keeping it together during the service. Lily, she could see, was upset, but Petunia stayed close to her husband, and refused to make their grief a shared one.

James had ambushed her – It was the only way to think of it – right at the end of the wake, after all the guests had left the venue, and Petunia herself had only popped to the loo before the drive home.

“Please hear me out.” He’d said immediately, holding his hands up. He was holding a biscuit tin in one of them, which Petunia had thought was odd. Was that his idea of a gift you present someone when both their parents die? Did wizards do that?

“I am very sorry for your loss.” James Potter had carried on. “I know we don’t know each other, and you and Lily have fallen out, but she would really like to get along again.”

“Did she send you to speak to me?” Petunia had asked scornfully.

“No, no, this is all me. I’ll tell her about it of course, but… Look, I don’t know if you know, but the wizarding world right now is… not good.”

Petunia didn’t know. She hadn’t been reading Lily’s letters.

“We just found out Lily’s pregnant.” James had said, and looked down at her belly. She was barely showing, but she knew he knew. “She’s only… maybe a month behind you. I know she wishes your parents could have met the baby. I’m sure you do too.”

The news had shocked Petunia enough that she’d let him carry on.

“My parents died two years ago. If something happens to us… You’re the only family Lily has left. You’d be the only family our baby has left. I want you to have this.”

He’d held out the tin, and spoken quickly, so she wouldn’t interrupt him.

“You don’t have to do anything with this, just keep it, just in case… If something happens to us, we want the baby’s godfather to take care of them, but we don’t know how that’s going to go, he’s not related by blood, and something might happen to him too, and… This is a precaution, we just, we don’t want to leave our child with no plan B. Or, C. Sirius is already plan B, of course plan A is not for anything to happen to us and raising our child, but… Anyway I digress. There are details for a Mu-... a, a bank account in one of your banks, that would be for you, if, if… in case that’s where they grow up. Otherwise, there is a letter in there, for them. There is a key to our bank vault for the rest of our savings on the Wizard side. And a… photo. It’s, it’s a magical photo, so. Err. Just, keep it? And if they’re with you, please give them the box. When they turn eleven.”

Sometimes Petunia wondered if things would have been different if she had picked up more on James’ genuine worry that something was _likely_ to happen to him and his wife, rather than thinking he was a paranoid lunatic, snatching the tin and shoving it into her bag in a huff before leaving him standing there.

She was looking at that tin now, back down from the loft, sitting on her bed. She had opened it once before, when the bundle that was Harry had shown up on their doorstep, to recover the bank details she remembered James had mentioned. It had been her main argument against Vernon to justify raising her sister’s son – sentiment would not have swayed him, but money definitely could. The Potters had set it all up so that they would essentially be paid monthly child support from the account after confirming Petunia accepted to be his legal guardian. 

The rest of the fund would be for Hal to access when he was older, and Petunia realised now, picking up the small key gingerly between her fingers as well, that she had no idea how much was in there, or in its Wizard equivalent. She knew her parents had left both her and Lily a small sum, and as Lily had died only a year and a half after them, most of it had probably still been there, but it would have been chipped away for Harry’s care over the years.

Either way, however much money Hal would have to his name, it was a helpful start in life. She suddenly felt newfound respect for James Potter. It was morbid to prepare for your possible death to the extent he had, but it was clear it had been with actual grounds, and it left his son with something for the future.

And with something from the past. With a pang, Petunia lifted the photo out of the tin. It was Lily, and James, both so young, smiling wide, waving and blowing kisses, looking like proper goofballs. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not going to cry today. Today was Hal’s birthday. It was a happy day. A celebration.

She heard the tell-tale noises of one of her boys going to the bathroom, then soft footsteps down the stairs. She could safely bet on Hal – Ley tended to sleep until 12 unless forcefully removed from his bed. Putting the lid back on the tin, she took it with her as she went down to the kitchen.

“Morning.” Hal greeted her sleepily from where he stood at the sink, a glass of water in hand.

“Morning, darling.” She put the tin down on the table, and came over to kiss the top of his head. “Happy birthday.”

Hal’s face broke into a smile. “Oh yeah.” He beamed, like he had forgotten.

“I have something for you.” She said.

“Aren’t we waiting for Ley for presents?” He frowned.

“Yes. This one is… from your dad.” She gestured to the tin.

“Oh.”

“I thought maybe you would want to look at it privately. I’ll go grab a shower and get dressed, and we’ll make waffles when I’m back, okay?”

Hal nodded silently, and she kissed his hair again before leaving him with the tin.

* *

*

Hal stared at the tin for a good three minutes before he finally sat down and opened it. 

The first thing he saw was the photo, lying on top, and he understood why this wasn’t given to him before this particular birthday. The magically enhanced picture was moving in a loop, his parents waving and blowing kisses at him. His throat felt tight. It made them look so much more real than all the photos he’d seen of his mom before. 

And. He looked just like his dad.

He flipped it over before emotion overwhelmed him, and turned to the rest of the box. There was a key, he wondered what it opened, and a letter. With another deep breath, he opened it.

_Hello, Harry_

_When your mother and I found out we were expecting you, we stayed up all night talking about baby names. We don’t know if you will be a boy or a girl, but we know we want to call you Harry. It will be short for Harriet if you are a girl. Either is fine, by the way, and don’t let the gender you’re born as define you. We will always love you unconditionally._

_I hope you will never read this, because if you do, it means Lily and I didn’t get to tell you these things ourselves, watch you grow, teach you to walk, and fly a broom, and cast spells – or invent them! But these are dark times, my Harry. And if you knew us, you would know we are not going to be anywhere but on the front lines. Although we hate that it means putting you in danger, and now we know you are coming, we do want to hide for a bit. Give you a chance to be born safe, give ourselves a chance to know you. But that doesn’t mean it will always be safe._

_If you are reading this, I am so sorry we left you. Will you believe me if I say we were trying to make the world better for you, to stop it from falling into darkness and staying there? Sometimes I don’t know if we are selfish for trying, and risking your future, or if it would be selfish not to try, and simply hide and protect what we have. We want you to be proud of your reckless parents._

_I have asked your aunt Petunia to give you this when you turn eleven, if it so happens you go and live with her. She doesn’t like me, but she is your mom’s only sister, and they used to be very close. I am hoping she can remember that and give you some love. Even I can realise she is a better choice for raising you than my best friend and his questionable maturity._

_I have no doubt you will have received your Hogwarts letter. You will have such an amazing time there, my Harry! Make some great friends. Make your mom proud, and study hard. Make your dad proud, and have as much fun as you possibly can. You will be brilliant, I know that either way. If we have died, I hope we can come back as ghosts, and meet you there. But I don’t think it works that way._

_The key is for our vault in Gringotts, I have left one with other people so we’re sure you will be able to access your inheritance. They are charmed to only work for our blood, and for others to disappear once one is used, to leave you just with the one you need. Lily sorted that out, she’s brilliant like that._

_It is very weird to write to your unborn child with the assumption that you will be dead by the time they read it. It is very weird writing something in the hope that it never gets read. I have so much to say to you, my Harry. And if this is the only chance I have to tell you, I don’t want to waste it, but I really don’t know what to say._

_I love you. Lily loves you. I think that’s what’s important._

_We hope you are happy._

_James F. Potter – Dad_

The signature was smudged, as if it had been added with damp fingers, and Hal wondered if his dad had been crying. He had to push the letter away from him so as not to smear it with his own tears. When his aunt came downstairs, she simply put the letter and photo back in the tin, closed the lid, and held him as he cried.

It was only a bit later that Hal’s day considerably cheered up, with a combination of waffles, a very hyper Dudley finally awake and raring to go, a showing of _Jurassic Park III_ at the cinema, and a massive chocolate cake with a pile of presents waiting for him back at home when they returned. It was, all in all, a good birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know James’ parents are meant to have seen him get married to Lily, but I like the idea (so to speak) that he matured in his seventh year at Hogwarts partly because his parents died…


	3. August

Draco could tell the other boy in the shop had not been to Diagon Alley before – unlike himself who was there on any given Saturday. His mother shopped a lot. She called it socialising. 

Muggleborn, Draco would guess from the look of amazement and wonder the boy cast on everything. Though he knew of wizards who did not spend much time in magical cities, they at least would not have looked like they were about to squeal in delight at the sight of a floating measuring tape. That was just everyday household magic.

“First one in your family to go to Hogwarts then?” Draco asked, once he figured this would probably be the least judgmental way of finding out. It had taken him years of unlearning his father’s ways to stop looking down on Muggleborns. He was getting better at it.

The boy startled slightly at being addressed directly, and he turned cautiously to Draco as if the measuring tape would attack him if he moved too suddenly. 

“My parents went there.” He answered. “But they, hum, they died.”

“Oh.” Draco winced. Way to put his foot in it. “I’m sorry.” It didn’t feel appropriate mentioning his father, so he didn’t. “Are you here on your own?”

“I’m with my aunt, but she’s getting a cup of tea with the DAMSELS lady. I think she was a bit overwhelmed.”

Draco guessed the aunt in question was a Muggle. He nodded sympathetically. He’d been to a Muggle shopping centre once – unbeknownst to his mother – and had been thoroughly confused. He could imagine what it would feel like in reverse. It would be a lot to take in for anyone, but then the boy added:

“I don’t think she expected everyone to know my name. Bit weird, that.”

It took a few seconds for Draco to put two and two together. A boy his age with dead parents and raised by Muggles. Enough of a well-known wizarding family that people would know his name. Hair that looked like a couple of small birds could comfortably nest in there. Very, very green eyes. 

“Harry Potter.” He breathed. 

“Oh man, you too?” His assumption was confirmed. “Were my parents really that famous?”

“Is that what they told you?” Draco tilted his head curiously.

The name of Potter had been spoken with scorn in his household for as long as his father had been alive, and not at all after that. His mother had carefully removed herself from anything she called ‘political’. You know, like the murder of people most of their current acquaintances had called friends.

“Nobody really said much.” Harry sighed. “They just seem to know who I am, and several people have told me how much I look like my father.”

Draco supposed he did. He remembered seeing the Potters’ pictures from news records. Harry was looking at him with a little frown that Draco had seen a lot before: that was the face of someone wanting to figure out if you were trying to make a fool out of them, or get one over them. Ronald Weasley had once told Draco that was because he talked like he was better than everyone else – but Draco really couldn’t help it if he’d been raised to have perfect elocution, could he – and because that was exactly what Lucius always used to do. That one had stung.

“Alright, boys.” Madame Malkin swooped in before he could say anything else, plucking the tapes from the air and waving her wand so pins would slot into place on the fabric. “That’s it for school robes, they will be delivered at Hogwarts so they can put the finishing touches on them when you’re sorted. You’re all done, my dear.” She added to Harry with a smile. 

He hopped off the stool, grinning widely as the robes pulled themselves from him and went to slot tidily on a rack to the side. Madam Malkin waved her wand again and a little scroll of parchment followed - no doubt bearing Harry’s name. Draco’s robes followed the same route, but he stayed up there. He knew his mother wanted him fitted for dress robes too.

He watched Harry make for the door with a little regret; he’d have liked to talk more. He may not be as famous as Harry Potter, but it was rare to meet someone who did not know the Malfoy name and hadn’t already made up his mind about him, his dead father, his aloof mother, and which branches of his extended family were the good or the bad ones. 

“I guess I’ll see you at school?” The other boy surprised him by turning back around.

Well then, it looked like he hadn’t screwed this up yet, that Harry hadn’t made up his mind, and that maybe, he’d get a second chance at getting to know someone new. 

“Yeah.” He smiled back. “I’m Draco, by the way.”

“Harry.” He said, then laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you knew that. Bye now!”

He was out the door before Draco’s startled chuckle had time to fully pass his lips.

* *

*

Hands down, Hal thought, as weird as his day had been so far, the wand shop was taking things to a whole new level. First of all, _wands_. He supposed all stereotypes came from somewhere, and the clichés about witches must be based on some truth, same as some preconceptions about other countries and cultures, but seriously, _wands_? 

At least, as far as he’d come to understand, flying broomsticks were used to play sports, and not as a means of transportation, and the pointy hats were really only stout little caps with a pointy top that were mostly used for formal wear, but wands seemed to be an actual thing that everyone did magic with. Grown men and women waving a stick in the air looked ridiculous to Hal, but he supposed he’d have to get used to it.

The shop itself was fine, it looked like a second-hand bookshop, just as dark and dusty, only with the shelves stacked with boxes instead of books. No, what was unsettling was the wandmaker himself. Hal had gathered that the wizarding world was a fairly small one, and had come to terms with meeting people who had known his parents – his Auntie really hadn’t liked that, though. But Ollivander, whom Hal guessed he must be, going by the name of the shop, greeted him like he’d seen him coming in a crystal ball or something.

“Ah, Mister Potter! I knew this day would come.”

He proceeded to muttering about the wands he had sold James Potter and Lily Evans when they were children, sometimes so barely audible that Hal decided to assume he was mostly talking to himself, rather than try to follow the details – he didn’t think knowing what core his father’s wand had had would really be important, anyway. 

Then the man was shoving sticks in his hand, and looking at him expectantly before snatching them away again, sometimes having asked him to wave them around a bit. Hal was glad Petunia had stayed out of the cramped little shop. She had very little patience for shop employees (or in this case, owners) who did not behave to her standards. What those standards were, Hal had never fully determined, but he was pretty sure the grumbling and manhandling would be quite outside of them.

“I wonder, I wonder…” The old man continued being cryptic as he set off towards the back.

He returned looking conspiratorial as he pulled another wand out of its box and handed it to Hal reverently. 

This time, Hal felt like the wood was warm, calling something inside him, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“This one.” He heard himself say.

“Quite.” The wandmaker said. “Yes, quite. How curious. Wand magic never ceases to amaze, Mister Potter. Never ceases. The wand chooses the wizard, did you know? There is so much we still do not understand about wands, they take a life of their own after they are made. How curious.”

Hal could tell the old man was just waiting for a question from him to go on rambling again, so he carefully did not ask what was so curious.

“My aunt is waiting for me.” He said, truthfully. “Thank you for your help.”

“It was my pleasure and honour, Mister Potter.” Ollivander said after he’d gathered a handful of gold coins from him. 

And Hal could swear, like several other people that day, that he’d looked straight at the corner of his forehead where, underneath his thick hair, the skin was marred by his scar.

* *

*

“How was your day?” 

Ley could barely contain his excitement as he jumped in place around the table, peering into the shopping bags full of weird, magical things Hal and Petunia had brought back from London. Petunia had gone into the kitchen, leaving them to it.

“It was _mental_.” Hal was still wired up as well, though his exhaustion was starting to make itself felt.

It had been a long day, with a higher emotional toll than he had anticipated. He decided not to mention to his cousin how he felt about meeting people who knew him, had known his parents. Not that he had figured out yet how he did feel about it. 

“What are _these_?” Ley asked with glee, holding out a handful of thick gold coins out of the standard-issue thin leather pouch Hal had been given at the bank. He hadn’t had the heart to ask Petunia to go into another shop, after the wand and the books and the cauldron and the robes, to look for a nicer one. “Is that real money?”

“Yeah, so get this.” Hal told him with newfound energy again. “We went into that weird bank right, so your mom could change some money, and they were these little goblins everywhere…”

“Goblins?”

“Yeah, goblins.” Hal carried on, only part of his brain stopping to wonder how this was now his life. “So we’re at the desk and this one goes – _Would Mister Potter also like access to his vault?_ ”

“You have a vault?” Ley snorted. 

“I do, apparently. And I’m rich? I think. I mean that looked like a _lot_ of gold.”

Hal knew he had a fund that had been set up when he was born, that some of that money was going to his aunt for bringing him up, and that he had a sum waiting for him when he came of age. He didn’t know how much, just that his parents had been good at managing money and planning for the future, as it had turned out.

But he’d thought that was it – obviously, he hadn’t known his parents were part of two different worlds. He’d also never thought of the other bank account as _his_ money, to him it was just something for his aunt to manage, and something that would help when he was an adult, his family’s inheritance, like everyone else. But the mounds of gold in that vault, that was another story.

Ley seemed to think the same thing. “You are so buying everything from now on.”

“Don’t think I can use these here though.” Hal snatched a galleon – he’d learned the terms and which was which earlier – back from his cousin.

“Use them to bring me cool stuff back from the Magic Kingdom then.”

“I don’t think that’s what it’s called.” Hal huffed.

Ley grinned widely back at him.

“Oh, that’s what we’re calling it.”

* *

*

“How was your day?”

Draco glanced at his mother and refrained from rolling his eyes. She had been _with him_. But she did that, and he had learned to accept it as her own way of caring. 

“It was fine.” He simply said. 

He’d met Harry Potter. It was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to him in a long time, but he somehow did not want to share that with his mother. Not just yet. He wanted to process it on his own first, revel in the possibility that maybe, if he didn’t mess up, he could be friends with the boy who ended the war. It felt like redemption. 

Harry Potter was… not what he had expected. He was tiny, for one, he looked about seven years old, though Draco knew a lot of kids who hadn’t hit their growth spurt yet. It didn’t mean he’d stay small. But the stories about him were larger than life, and Draco had expected him to be taller. Not that he hadn’t been impressive – he looked like he packed more of a punch than a Pepper-Up potion. 

He seemed blissfully unaware of his own fame, and his role in defeating the Dark Lord ten years back. Draco guessed his Muggle relatives had not told him much about his heritage, if anything at all. Surely if he had been aware of the wizarding world, he would have made _some_ visits to it over the years. Many would have welcomed him with open arms; even if he hadn’t been the Boy Who Lived, there were still families who had been close to the Potter line, in their loyalties if not by blood. The Malfoys themselves probably had been related at some point, before the Potter House ceased to be a Pureblood House. Best not look into bloodlines too closely, he’d learnt over the years.

Draco had not particularly been looking forward to going to Hogwarts before. He liked teaching himself from the books in his family’s extensive library. His mother often took him on her visits to other families, so Draco knew most of his future classmates already. Some of them were alright, but Draco felt like seeing them every now and again was enough – he had not made close friends out of any of them, though he’d been told many times this tended to happen easily within your house at school. 

Draco did not think Harry Potter would be in his house – he didn’t see anything else but Slytherin for himself, and he knew most of the Potters had been Gryffindors. That might make being friends a little challenging, between those two houses especially, but Draco did not mind a challenge.

And for the first time since he was old enough to know he was going, he was rather looking forward to starting school. 


	4. September

The station was bustling, commuters moving like they may be willing to trample a child as long as they could be on their way, tourists in the middle not helping matters in the slightest, and Hal found himself grabbing Ley’s hand, whose other arm his aunt was holding firmly, as they made their way through the moving crowd. He had received his train ticket a few days earlier, an old-fashioned piece of card that looked like it was part of a game, alongside a sensible note informing them to look for the DAMSELS representative in King’s Cross between platforms 9 and 10.

When they got there, they found a garishly dressed young woman standing a little way away from the barrier separating the platforms, chatting already to a couple Hal would guess were non magical, the father holding the hand of a girl his age with a fantastic head of hair. More odd-looking people were whizzing past them towards the barrier and seemingly… vanishing. The couple were eyeing this with concern, but nobody else seemed to be noticing. 

“Nothing to worry about.” They caught the end of what the young witch was saying as they approached. “Oh, hello! Hogwarts?”

“Yes.” Petunia sighed with some relief, hauling her little chain of children forward until Hal was standing on the other side of the bushy-haired girl, who gave him a wide smile. She had large teeth, which Hal thought made her look sincere when she smiled. 

“See.” The DAMSEL beamed. “You have a buddy already, you won’t be lost. And I have just seen a lovely boy called Justin through. But let me tell you a secret.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Everyone is lost their first few days of school, doesn’t matter how much you already know or don’t!”

She straightened back up and looked at Petunia and the other parents reassuringly. “I can take it from here.”

The girl turned to say her goodbyes, and Hal did the same, feeling a little awkward.

“Alright, well. I guess that’s me. Enjoy your day, yeah?”

Ley has insisted to come and see him off, and Petunia had decided to take advantage of being in London for the day, taking him shopping and for a spot of lunch before heading back to Surrey.

“Enjoy spending over five hours on the train to Scotland.” Ley teased.

They’d had that conversation already. He was baffled that Hal’s people – as he’d taken to calling wizards – had _magic_ and could not find a better method of transport than rail. Hal shoved him playfully, and that was probably about as emotional as it would get.

He did give his Auntie a hug, and tried to pretend he didn’t feel a little tug of nervousness at the thought of not seeing them both again till Christmas. 

“I’ll miss you.” He told them when he stepped back, making a point of looking at Ley too.

Ley, naturally, just scoffed. Petunia pushed his hair off his forehead – it sprung right back – with a smile.

“Have a great time, darling. Be good, learn a lot. Don’t forget to write.”

“I will.” Hal promised.

He dragged his massive suitcase towards the DAMSELS witch and the other first-year; her parents were standing back, the mother blowing kisses and repeating variations of _Bye my love. Have fun!_

“Alright, ready to go!” The young woman pushed them both forward. 

A few steps away from the barrier, Ley shouted behind him.

“Hey, Hal!”

He turned, and his cousin flipped two fingers at him with a grin. “I’ll miss you too.”

Then everything went blurry, and they emerged onto the hidden platform for the Hogwarts Express – Hal realised they’d gone right through the barrier as they’d kept walking. He took a moment to gape at the gleaming red steam train. 

“Okay then!” Their chaperone exclaimed again, and Hal wondered how she wasn’t exhausted yet from so much enthusiasm. “There you are, plenty of time to board, I’ll let you get on. Have a great time at Hogwarts!”

She’d disappeared back before they could thank her, and so Hal and the girl turned to each other.

“Hi.” She smiled at him again. “I’m Hermione.”

“Harry.” He introduced himself in turn.

“Oh, Hal makes sense.” She whispered to herself, and blushed when she saw his raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I heard your brother call you that and I wondered what it was short for.”

“He’s my cousin.” Hal corrected. “And yeah, there were like five Harry’s in our year group a few years ago so him and our friends started calling me Hal, and it worked really well because of the comet.”

Hermione blinked at him. “The comet?”

“Halley’s comet.” Hal explained. “Cause he’s called Ley. Well, Dudley. So people called us Halley. Like the comet.”

He thought he was probably rambling a bit, but he was nervous. People were milling about around them, they were about to step onto a magical train that would take them to a magical school, and there he was explaining his and his cousin’s nickname, which the poor girl probably couldn’t give a rat’s arse about. 

But she chuckled, apparently appreciating the pun. “I see. Well, Hal, let’s get on this train then, shall we?”

* *

*

Not for the first time, Draco reflected that Purebloods moved about like the mere proximity of wizards who were not as rich, beautiful and magically pure as they were – or Merlin forbid, Muggles – could somehow taint or contaminate them. They found each other in public places, when they had the misfortune of having no choice but to gather there, and huddled together to better bask in their superiority. 

Sending their offspring to school was such an occasion, though Draco wondered why some of them even bothered to come at all as he watched his mother exchange pleasantries with Celene Greengrass and Pollyana Parkinson like this was another garden party. A few paces away, William Greengrass, Rufus Parkinson, Wilbur Crabbe and Graham Goyle equally looked like they were just about ready to pop out the brandy.

Daphne and Pansy had already sauntered off towards the train, Vincent at their heels, but Gregory was hanging back, looking tentatively at Draco, so Draco made an effort to push down his instinct (which would have been to find a quiet carriage for himself and spend most of the journey reading) and walked up to him.

“Gregory.” He greeted. “Did you have a good summer?”

“Sure.” Gregory said.

Draco waited for him to expand, which he didn’t. He sighed internally, preparing himself for a very long journey indeed. It wasn’t that he disliked Gregory. He was just incredibly dull, and had never shown signs of great intelligence. Draco remembered his father saying the same of Goyle senior, years ago – _Sometimes you need someone to be the brawn_. Draco had no use for brawn, he would rather spend his time with someone who was at least capable of a conversation slightly more ambitious than monosyllabic answers. 

Maybe he could drop him off with the others, pretend to go off to the toilet and then conveniently not manage to find his way back to their carriage. Motivated by this half-baked plan, he turned to say goodbye to his mother – a touch of the cheek, and she petted his hair and told him to write, then went back to her conversation quite untroubled – and headed for the train, expecting the other boy to follow. They usually did. Draco suspected none of the kids particularly liked him or wanted his approval, but that their parents had told them to stay on his good side. Lucius Malfoy might have been dead for five years, still their wealth, nobility and influence hadn’t changed and their name continued to bear its historical weight.

As they stepped onto the carriage, Draco spotted the Weasleys – a small hurricane of noise, laughter, chaos and red hair. They always gave him a feeling of bewilderment, and maybe something like envy. The close-knit relationship between siblings was something Draco would never know or have. He day-dreamed about what it would be like to be a twin, sometimes, like Fred and George. 

He had been to the Burrow once when he was eight – Molly Weasley had been shopping in Diagon Alley for Percy’s school supplies, him and her two eldest running along. Narcissa had just been out to a few shops herself, and she’d done the social thing and talked to Molly. Seeing Draco eyeing the tall pile of ice cream boxes she was also carrying, Mrs Weasley had said she was taking this back to the rest of her children and asked if he wanted to join them. Narcissa had seen no objection – Lucius had been highly disapproving of the Weasleys, but she didn’t really care. They were, after all, distant cousins. So Draco had gone, and spent the afternoon with them. He’d come out exhausted, but he’d had quite a lot of fun.

The train was already packed with students, and Draco saw the opportunity for a quick change of plans when Gregory stepped ahead of him to let two older girls in Hufflepuff colours squeeze past, and carried on down the corridor towards the head of the train. Pansy had always talked about how she wanted to sit at the head of the train, when their time came. Draco went the other way, using the cover of the crowd. He wasn’t sure the rest of them would even ask where he’d gone off to and why, but if they did, he had plausible deniability. 

* *

*

Hermione did know quite a lot about Hogwarts, and the wizarding world at large, for someone who hadn’t been born into it. Hal gathered quite quickly that she just loved to read, and hated being uninformed. He himself wasn’t particularly booksmart, and hadn’t had the curiosity to go past leafing through a couple of his school books, so he listened to her running commentary as they made their way through the train, looking for a compartment to sit in.

“Oh, this boy has a newt! See, our supply list said owl, cat or toad if we wanted to bring a pet, but I’ve read that it was more of a guideline, intended for first years mostly, and later on you can bring any pet you want as long as they are sensible. Do you have a pet? My parents didn’t want me to get one, they said maybe when I’m older. I think I’d want a cat, they seem to be the most traditional familiars, right? Not that they seemed to be called familiars anymore, I think they’re just pets.”

“I don’t have a pet.” Hal managed to slot in. “My aunt always had a strict no-pet policy, we weren’t even allowed a goldfish after what happened to… Never mind that.”

He shook his head, smiling to himself at the memory of that poor fish Ley had won at the funfair. It had turned out you could not replicate cryogenics on goldfish by putting them in the freezer. Who would have guessed? It hadn’t seemed obvious when they were seven, at any rate.

Hermione gave him a curious smile, but there was too much going on around them for her to stop talking long enough to ask Hal what that was about.

“Do you see how easily they are carrying these?” She pointed at a couple of students lifting great big trunks on top of the other against the window of their compartment. “There’s a spell that makes things feather-light. I very much want to learn how to do that. There is also a spell that can make things go really small so you can fit them in your bag, you know like that scene in _The Sword in the Stone_?”

“Or Mary Poppins.” Hal piped up.

“Well, yes, but I thought the reference to Merlin was more adequate. You know they use Merlin’s name like we say _Oh my God_ and stuff like that? I’m sure we’ll hear it.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Someone cried behind them, as if on cue. “Stop messing about for five seconds, you two!”

A red-haired boy of maybe fifteen pushed passed them in a huff, as Hermione and Hal tucked themselves out of the way and into a compartment, that just so happened to be empty. From where he’d just come, two equally red-haired boys, clearly his younger siblings going by the resemblance, were cackling gleefully as they waved through the line of flies that were following the first brother. Behind them, another boy looking quite similar to the rest of them and even younger, stood shaking his head.

“I am not sitting with you.” This last boy spoke. Hal saw him spot them, as they were pushing their suitcases as out of the way as possible. “Still space in yours?”

“Sure.” Hal beckoned him. 

After a couple of minutes of shuffling, brotherly bickering and moving luggage, the three of them were sitting across from each other and the twins had gone off to find their friends.

“First years too, right?” The redhead asked. “I’m Ron.”

“Hermione.”

“Hal.” He supposed he didn’t mind people calling him that, and something told him after his experience in Diagon Alley that giving his full name would not necessarily be his best move, until he knew what exactly his parents had been famous for in this world. “Three brothers, hey?” He diverted the attention back to the other boy, for now. “You must know what to expect a lot better than us. Well, than me.” He amended honestly. “Hermione has read the _History of Hogwarts_ , she’s much better prepared.”

“ _Hogwarts: A History_.” Hermione corrected.

“Mate, I have _five_ brothers.” Ron bemoaned, ignoring her intervention. “And a sister, though she’s younger than me. I’ll tell you though, I’m not believing a word of what Fred and George told me about Hogwarts, so I reckon I’ll have to find out most of it for myself, same as you guys.” He nodded to their suitcases, upright metal and plastic contrasting with his battered, century-old-looking leather chest. “Muggleborns, I take it?”

“Yes!” Hermione confirmed enthusiastically. “I have read that nowadays 34% of wizards are born to Muggle families, and 58% to at least one Muggleborn parent. Studies have shown that it is in no way related to individual magical strength or ability.”

“That’s… cool.” Ron nodded awkwardly.

“Oh my god, we’re moving.” Hermione jumped to look through the window and wave frenetically at the crowd, even though her parents had stayed on the other side. “Here we go! Did you know magical locations don’t actually exist in a parallel space? They’re just, in a space next to the Muggle space. The spells mean people without magic won’t notice them, but it’s not like, out of thin air, even if it looks that way.”

Ron leaned in and asked in a whisper: “Is she always like this?”

Hal shrugged. “I met her half an hour ago. But she does seem to be.”

“It’s funny though that people could have no idea.” Hermione continued as she sat back down. “I mean, did you hear about the Wizarding War? You must have.” She told Ron specifically. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t so long ago.” Ron said. “I mean, it ended when I was, like, one year old, but my parents still speak of it. Lest we forget, and all that.”

Hermione turned to Hal like she’d proven a point. “We wouldn’t know, would we? Side by side worlds, you’d think a whole war would be noticed, but no. I was fascinated to read about it.”

“People died.” Ron muttered. “There’s nothing fascinating about that.”

Hermione flushed. “I don’t mean anything morbid by it.” She said. “But I suppose the ideologies are… foreign to me.”

Hal spared a second to absent-mindedly be impressed by her vocabulary, then tuned out as she started arguing with Ron the values of knowing the history of a culture you had not been part of. He stared out the window for a few minutes, until the mention of his name snapped his attention back to the conversation.

“What?”

“I’m just saying it sounded more like a gang feud than what we would call a war.” Hermione said, oblivious to his distress. “Only going by the scale of it.”

“What about the Potters?” Hal insisted. 

“What I meant is it was more like an assassination than casualties of battle. If it hadn’t blown back in the other side’s face there and then, there would have been retaliation and escalation again.”

Hal turned to Ron, feeling his breath quicken.

“What is she talking about?” He appealed to him, knowing he would put it in simpler words.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the dark wizard trying to take over the world at the time, tried to murder a whole family.” Ron put it simply indeed. “There’s this curse that kills, but somehow when he cast it on the baby it… bounced back. And killed him instead. And the war ended.”

“Harry Potter is the only known person to have ever survived the Killing Curse.” Hermione added. “He is seen as a hero, even though he would have been way too young to do anything conscious about it. Nobody knows what really happened, at least the books don’t say.”

Hal felt ill. He had never known the details of his parents’ death, only that it had been untimely – he’d always just told himself it had been ‘an accident’, which meant everything and nothing. But they had been _murdered_? By an evil dark wizard who’d tried to murder him too? Making him somehow the person who ended a war? What the hell?

“Mate, are you okay?” Ron noticed the look of horror on his face.

He had just been speculating about what had happened to Harry Potter next, presuming he would surely be at Hogwarts this year as he thought he was their age, and Hal didn’t think he could face coming clean just yet.

“Sorry.” He blurted out. “I need some air.”

Ignoring whatever concern would surely show on their faces, he flew from the compartment and set off down the corridor, just to put enough distance between them that they wouldn’t try and talk to him until he had processed this new gem. 

There were a lot less people who hadn’t settled now, and he passed the stragglers quickly, trying not to crash into anyone.

“Harry.” Someone spoke his name, in a soft breath of surprise, as he emerged onto the space between two carriages, where he knew – thought – nobody would be.

Looking up, he recognised the blond boy from the dressmaker’s shop a few weeks ago.

“Please, call me Hal.” He told him without really thinking, with a hint of desperation. Suddenly he couldn’t bear the name Harry. “Please.”

“Hal.” The boy nodded – Draco, he remembered. An unusual name. “Are you alright?”

“Not really.” Hal huffed a joyless laugh. 

“Want to talk about it?” Draco offered.

“Not really.” Hal repeated, more softly, as he felt himself starting to calm down. “It was Draco, right?” He asked, more to engage with the boy than because he wasn’t sure.

The other simply nodded, and they remained silent for a bit, until Hal couldn’t hold the question any longer.

“Does everyone know about me?” He asked very quietly, almost hoping Draco wouldn’t hear him, and offer no answer. 

But he did hear, and he turned thoughtful grey eyes to him.

“Unless they’ve lived under a rock.” He answered. “Or in the Muggle world, I suppose. They discussed putting you in chocolate frogs, but then thought you were too young.”

Hal elected to park _chocolate frogs_ as something to explore later. “Well that’s just great.” He sighed.

“If it makes you feel better.” Draco said. “Most people know about me too.”

Hal glanced over at him and couldn’t stop a wry grin from forming on his lips. Growing up with Ley as the kids with more dead parents between them than the rest of their class put together had taught him things were usually much easier if you could find the funny side.

“Did you also head-butt a psycho killer when you were a baby?” He quipped. 

Draco’s face did something odd like he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh.

“Well, no.” He did sound amused. “But my family is well-known. People might warn you about me, actually, the Malfoy name tends to be associated with dark magic. Mostly though, I think people are just weird around wealth and influence. We are a Noble and Most Ancient house.” Hal assumed that was something important. “They said my father could have been Minister of Magic.”

“Is he not going to be?” Hal asked. 

“He’s dead.” 

“Oh.” Hal winced. He didn’t say _Sorry_. He hadn’t known, and it wasn’t his fault. He always thought it was weird that people said sorry. He knew it was the done thing, but what came out of his mouth was: “Thank you.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “For what?”

“For telling me all this, I suppose. For putting things into perspective. It did make me feel better. I was this close to feeling sorry for myself.”

He gestured with his fingers half an inch from each other, and it successfully defused the tension as they both laughed. 

“Should we go and sit down?” Hal suggested. “It’s actually baltic in here.”

“I don’t have a compartment.” Draco pointed to his trunk behind him.

It was beautiful, as far as luggage can be, and looked insanely expensive. With that and the aristocratic way in which he spoke, Hal started to see what the boy meant about his “noble” family. 

“Come on then.” He led the way.

They walked back the couple of carriage lengths to the compartment where Hermione and Ron were still sitting, discussing magical primary school, by the sounds of it.

“Picked up a stray.” Hal announced himself and Draco. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, hey Draco.” Ron greeted, and Draco inclined his head in response.

Hal was briefly surprised that they knew each other, but he supposed wizards were a lot fewer and more closely connected than Muggles were, what with there being _one_ school in the whole of the UK for kids aged 11 to 18.

“Hal, are you okay?” Hermione asked. “You ran off, did we say something to upset you?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Hal shook his head. He paused, and sighed. There was no way around it. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The look on their faces was almost worth it. Ron was the first to recover. 

“You’re kidding?”

Hermione was the first to actually recover.

“Now that you mention it.” She said thoughtfully. “You do look a lot like those pictures of your father.”

“I’m glad the rest of the wizarding world holds more pictures of my father than I ever had.” Hal said, only the tiniest bit bitterly. Petunia had shown him pictures of Lily, but James had been mostly made up of his imagination. 

“We’ll find you some.” Draco inputted, and Hal appreciated the gesture. 

“You’re Harry Potter?” Ron was still gaping.

Inevitably, his gaze slipped to Hal’s forehead. Self-conscious, he put a hand over the hair covering it.

“Is that public knowledge, or…”

“Speculation, really.” Ron volunteered, his curiosity prevailing over his bewilderment. “The sources are a bit dodgy on what happened the night You-Know-Who was defeated, but they say the Killing Curse rebounded and left a scar on Har-... your forehead.”

“Well, it did.” Hal mumbled, uncomfortable. “And it’s ugly.”

“Is it shaped like a lightning bolt?” Ron asked, clearly not able to control his excitement. You’d think he’d just been introduced to Santa.

“A lightning bolt?” Hal frowned.

“Yeah, you know.” Ron gestured something between a Z and a W. “That’s what they say.”

Hal was getting a bit fed up with this convenient _They_ , but he decided to let that go to focus instead on the ridiculous cartoonish simplification of a lightning bolt Ron clearly had in mind.

“Did you ever see actual lightning?” He tried not to sound too condescending. “If so, yeah, I suppose it does.”

He lifted his hair to get this over with. He knew what it looked like – the sunken skin like a great big crack on his temple, healed but still somehow an angry red. The smaller, raised branches crackling away from the main long jagged scar. It covered most of the right side of his face, which looked – as Ley had nicely put it once – like it had been cracked open and pushed together again. It wasn’t a fluke that he’d grown his hair to cover it. He hated it.

Neither of the other three kids said anything. 

Hal let his hair fall back over it, and after a few minutes, they started talking about sports.

* *

*

Draco had been a little shaken at the sight of Harry’s scar. He hadn’t ever given it much thought – like Ron and every wizard alive, he’d heard the rumours too, but he hadn’t pictured it. He didn’t think he’d have imagined that if he had tried to. Harry – Hal – had called it ugly, and Draco wished he could say otherwise, but… no, it wasn’t pretty. It looked painful, even though Draco suspected a ten year-old scar wouldn’t be, and Harry hadn’t seemed bothered. Well, not by that anyway, because he clearly wasn’t a fan of its aspect. 

Draco didn’t let that unsettle him for too long, as they climbed into the boats taking them across the lake. Somehow the four of them sat together, without even thinking about it, and Draco thought, _Is this what having friends is like?_ It felts comfortable, even if they didn’t speak, as the boats started to glide on the water and the castle came into view, and there was too much awe and surprise among them to carry out a conversation. Even Draco had to admit the pictures did not do the school any justice. So he had time to think about the train journey. 

He’d chatted and laughed with Harry Potter, a boy he could only have dreamed of being friends with considering both their heritage. He couldn’t say having ran into him on the train was lucky – he’d pretty much kept walking down the carriages until he’d reached him. But the way the boy had taken him in stride was… unexpected. Not surprising, because Harry didn’t know anything about their world, or the Malfoy family, so why would he be prejudiced against Draco. But unexpected, maybe because Draco had prepared himself for the worst (a lonely year at school where he didn’t fit with his house, but still had to bear the stigma of being a Slytherin, unable to really connect with kids from other houses – the prejudices would be there, this time).

Even Weasley number six hadn’t objected, like the few forced shared afternoons they’d spent together as kids were enough to make him acceptable. He’d personally always found Ron a bit annoying, having much more fun with the twins, but that might have been a reaction to the assumption of every single adult around them that, being the same age, they must get along. And the girl, Hermione… Draco had found it almost thrilling, sitting with a Muggleborn and listening to her talk about the differences between her world and theirs, like he was doing something really naughty. 

He didn’t know if they would remain friends, there would still be the house problem after all – he wasn’t sure about Hermione, though he’d be ready to put money on Ravenclaw with what he’d seen of her, but Weasley was a safe bet for Gryffindor. But it felt like a good start, to have established with someone that the Malfoy heir was not just a posh git – he’d heard those words whispered around him down the train, among other things, so he knew that was the expectation of at least part of the student body.

The buzz of excitement resumed as they docked and started making their way to the castle. It wasn’t a very long walk, and soon enough they were in front of the doors of the Great Hall being lectured by the Deputy Headmistress – she was explaining, really, but her resting face made everything she said sound like she was telling you off. Draco tuned out slightly, and as they were led into the Hall, he started people-watching. 

He recognised several of the Weasleys, and a few Slytherins he’d met at one gathering or another. He saw some teens that were clearly couples, including two Hufflepuff boys holding hands, which made him feel a little jolt of… something. He spotted his godfather sitting with the other teachers, looking immensely bored. Severus had already warned him he would be showing no favouritism towards him, and he’d better make him proud in Potions. Draco wasn’t too worried. He liked the idea of brewing potions, and he didn’t think he’d be bad at it. Plus, he knew the man played at being mean, but actually had a real soft spot for him.

Draco turned to watching his year group as the Sorting Hat launched into what he thought was a truly awful song, and soon the first students were called forward. He wondered if the Hat was truly unbiased for each student, or if it also tried to spread out the new blood. What if nobody in the lot stood out as a Hufflepuff, for example, would there be no first years in that house? It wasn’t that many of them being sorted, it could very well happen. Yet in each year, there seemed to be a fairly even balance. Funny how that worked out. 

He started really paying attention to the sorting when they got to the letter G. He was a little surprised to see Granger, Hermione go to Gryffindor, not surprised at all when just before her Goyle and Greengrass were sent to Slytherin. A few more students went through – the name _Longbottom_ stirring something uncomfortable inside him, though he couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard it before – and it was his turn. 

He didn’t expect it to take long, but as the Hat engulfed his head, he heard a surprised voice within his mind.

_Uh._

_What?_ He thought back at it.

_An unusual mind, for a Malfoy._ The Hat said.

_Draco_. Draco thought with a bit of exasperation. _The name is Draco, and I am not a cardboard cut-out from the Malfoy factory._

He didn’t mean that to be addressed to the Hat specifically, but well, the thing was inside his mind.

_Quite._

There was another beat, before the Hat’s “mouth” opened as he announced:

“RAVENCLAW!”

Draco could swear there was a moment of stunned silence as McGonagall lifted the Hat off his head, before the clapping started. His feet took him to the Ravenclaw table, a girl there – fifth year, maybe sixth – smiled at him and said “Welcome”, and he smiled back in a haze, not sure what, the actual fuck, had just happened.

He wasn’t in Slytherin. That was all he could think, though it wasn’t sinking in. His entire short- and medium-term expectations were getting completely reshuffled, and he could hardly wrap his head around it. Oh Merlin, he was his family’s new Sirius. Had his father still been alive, he would have _killed him_. 

Harry Potter’s name was called and he jumped on the opportunity to focus on something else. 

* *

*

Hal briefly wondered how the magical society _functioned_ on a daily basis, when they were doing things as ridiculous as letting a talking hat sort children into school houses – which, he’d gathered, held significantly more importance here than they did in a normal school. When his turn came, he didn’t even know if he should try to influence it, or let it happen. The descriptions of each house had been simplistic to say the least, and surely the categorisation couldn’t accurately capture what a bunch of eleven year-olds would shape up to be. 

The Hat at least seemed to have a hard time of it, talking to itself inside Hal’s head as he carefully kept his mind blank. In the end, when Gryffindor prevailed, he found he actually was quite happy about that; the lion seemed to be the coolest emblem out of the four, and two of the three people he’d met so far were in that house – Ron hadn’t been sorted yet, but he had seemed as sure of it as his name was Weasley.

Everyone at the table was roaring – no pun intended – when he sat down, clearly very pleased to have scored the famous Harry Potter. Hal thought at least he would be able to write to Ley telling him he could stop worrying about whether he’d be popular. 

In the couple of hours that followed, Hal quickly reviewed his opinion about magic. Well, not entirely, a lot of it was still ridiculous, but it was _amazing_. Everything was new, fantastic and overwhelming, and the only thing that put a damper on Hal’s excitement was every time he turned around to comment on something, and Ley wasn’t there. He supposed he’d get used to it in no time, but he missed not sharing this with his cousin. They’d been sharing everything for so long, he felt a bit like he was missing a limb.

He made a few of those comments to Hermione instead, who was sitting next to him, but when she gave him a stern look after he made a ghost joke (he’d only pointed out that _The good thing about ghosts is their honesty, they can’t pretend to be something they’re not. You can see right through them._ – come on, it was a little bit funny) he turned to his other side, where Ron’s brothers were seated. They’d at least snorted. 

He quickly learnt their names were Fred and George, and they were _hilarious_. They were – according to their friend Lee – the biggest pranksters the school had ever seen. To that the twins were emphatically modest, made shady references to someone called the Marauders, and cracked more jokes than Hal would have thought possible in a single minute. Ley would have loved them. Ron, Hal could tell, what trying his very best to pretend to be exasperated. He could actually understand how the boy felt, he’d seen it happen in friends who felt excluded by his and Ley’s closeness, their inside jokes. It couldn’t have been easy to be the sixth brother in the family _and_ come after twins.

Hal was distracted from Ron and jokes as the food disappeared (it had been epic) and the headmaster made a short speech that made very little sense, and before they knew it they were ushered out and towards their respective dormitories. The prefect was another of Ron’s brothers, the riled up one from the train, and Ron seemed just as annoyed by his sanctimonious behaviour as he had been by Fred and George’s constant whirlwind. Hal only made a semi-conscious decision as he leaned towards the younger Weasley to whisper. 

“Is he always that pompous?”

Ron snickered. “Mate. This is him _not_ trying to sound posh. He does it when he speaks to teachers, you’ll see.”

“Please tell me, in all those years living with him, that you at least once put frogs in his bed.”

Ron actually burst out laughing; Percy glared in their general direction, and they both cracked up again. Later, Hal went to bed a little less worried about how his school year would turn out without Ley by his side. 


	5. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a longer one! Some more exposition, and then some of the plot kicks off. Some headcannons/liberties about magic and spells along the way.

_Dear Mother,_

_I am settling in fine in, as I am sure you have already heard through the grapevine, Ravenclaw. I hope you will not be upset by this rather unexpected development. I know you and Father and your families were always very attached to the House of Slytherin. We have some mixed classes so I am able to keep my acquaintances as well as make new ones._

_Severus does not seem to resent me; he says he would have liked to be my Head of House, but he will still look out for me as a teacher and a godfather. Not that I expect to need assistance, but there is something comforting in his presence._

_I hope you are well and the house does not seem too empty without me._

_Yours dearly,_

_Draco_

* *

*

_Hi Auntie!_

_School is great. It’s in a really big castle and people get lost a lot, but apparently it gets better after a few months. I wish you could both see how grand and different everything is here, you wouldn’t believe it! I was thinking maybe of asking for a camera for Christmas? I know it’s expensive but maybe I could pay for some of it with the money mom and dad left me, if I can change that for pounds._ _In the meantime, I’ve started to draw things so I can try and show you when I get back! Turns out I’m not so bad at it, actually. I'll show you when I'm next home._

_I’ve made friends, there seems to be quite a strong rivalry between the different houses and we have all our classes with our house and sometimes another, so that’s weird, but my housemates are nice so at least I don’t mind spending all that time with them in class or in the dorm. It was my friend Hermione’s birthday on 19th (I don’t know if you remember her, she’s the girl we met at the train station) so we had a small party, those happen a lot at the weekend, it’s good fun._

_Classes are really cool too and we’re learning spells and potions and the history of magic (that teacher is a ghost!) but there doesn’t seem to be any science or math or English (or other languages). Maybe you’ll have to catch me up at home – you said me and Ley could study together during the holidays but it doesn’t look like we’ll be learning the same things, they don’t even have GSCEs here. _

_Do you know what mom and dad’s friends were called when they were at school here? There are so many people telling me I look like my father (and one teacher who seems to hate me for it) but it would be nice to talk to people who actually knew them, and not just of them, you know? My friend Hermione tells me there are no phone books here, wizards don’t have phones, but there is a magical equivalent at the Ministry where you can look up someone’s name and it’ll tell you what they’re up to, like a registry of sorts. Apparently it’s not really reliable because it counts on people sharing their information, and a lot of people don’t want to, or forget to do it, so it’s quite often outdated._

_Doooon’t worry, of course I’m not going to go on my own, they probably won’t let minors do it alone in the Ministry anyway, and I’m not about to go wander meeting strangers in a magical world I know almost nothing about. But I thought maybe we could try and get in touch. In the meantime I can look for them in old school photos, they have a lot of those around the common room and trophy room – my dad was really good at sports apparently! I’d love to try out for the team too but first years aren’t allowed, so maybe next year!_

_Also the food is really nice here so you don’t have to worry about that._

_Hope everything’s good with you and the neighbourhood. The other page is for Ley but you can let him read that one as well._

_Love you both,_

_Hal_

_~_

_Hey, brother!_

_You wouldn’t believe how crazy things are here. You were joking about the Magic Kingdom but sometimes this is honestly like being in Disneyland. The castle is huge, the dorms are in a tower and we’ve got these massive medieval beds with the posts and curtains, the stairs are moving (I shit you not) and there’s like this massive lake that apparently has mermaids, and maybe a giant squid? I wasn’t sure if that one was just a school legend. Either way it’s nuts. There’s ghosts flying about, even the paintings are moving and talking. Seriously I showed some of my classmates a picture of us from last summer, and they were like “Why is it so still, what’s wrong with it?” Maybe when I get better at drawing I’ll learn the spell to make them move._

_Hope you’ve got mates at school. The kids here are okay, I’m mostly hanging out with the guys in my dorm: Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville, they’re all cool. Seamus is really funny, he’s got a thick Irish accent and most of his spells make things explode. Neville is super shy but he’s alright. Ron is probably the most fun to be around, and he’s got older twin brothers who are absolute legends. They are very creative with magic, which I think is lacking here, and their pranks are epic. Honestly, they are masters we could learn from. There’s also this guy in another house I spoke to a few times, Draco, he’s really posh, but he seems nice. He’s the only one who remembers to call me Hal so far, even though I told everyone to. But they’re all like oooh, Harry Potter. It’s weird being famous. Oh yeah, cause I’m famous!_

_Remember how people knew my name when we went shopping for school supplies? Well, I found out why. Don’t tell your mom, I think it would upset her. Basically, ten years ago, the wizards were in the middle of a war, there was this evil dark wizard who was trying to take over the world, the usual. Someone made a prophecy that a child born at the end of July would have the power to defeat him, and guess who the guy thought it was… He killed my mom and dad but then when he tried to use the same spell on me, it bounced back somehow, and destroyed him instead. So just like that the war was over and I’m a hero. I don’t feel great about that. But hey, at least everyone wants to be my friend. I wish you were here with me though._

_Right enough moping! Tell me about you. I hope you got our revenge on Jake, by the way. Did you go with the original plan? He deserves to find broccoli at the bottom of his bag._

_See you soon and don’t get grounded by the time I get back._

_Hal_

* *

*

Draco thought that by going to the owlery at meal time, he wouldn’t see anyone else there, but evidently some else had had the same idea. With some amusement, he paused at the top of the stairs, listening to the quick steps climbing up behind him, catching him up faster than he had been ascending. Two more bends, one… and Harry Potter came into view. 

“Oh, hey Hal.” He greeted him with a smile. 

They hadn’t spoken much since the train almost three weeks back, but they were friendly and exchanged a few words when they ran into each other down the halls, and usually sat near each other in the classes they had together. 

“Draco, hi!” Hal greeted back, grinning, slightly out of breath.

They went up the last few coils of the staircase together to emerge into the small room at the top. 

“Ugh, it always smells here.” Hal commented. “Letter for your mom?”

Draco looked down at the thin envelope, saw the much thicker one in Hal’s hand, and felt like Britain’s worst son.

“They keep getting shorter.” The confession blurted out unbidden.

Hal’s eyebrows raised a little, but he said nothing, and looked like he was willing to listen, so Draco carried on.

“I love her, and all.” He said quietly. “And I know she does too. But… I don’t know, I don’t have much to say to her.”

“I’m sure you’ve got what matters in here.” Hal shrugged. “Don’t feel bad because of this.” He waved his own letter. “I’m writing to two people so it’s bound to be longer.”

“Your aunt…” Draco trailed off, realising he knew nothing else about Harry’s current family situation. 

“And my cousin.” The other boy smiled. “But really, he’s like my twin. We’re born a month apart and we always did everything together.”

“Must be nice.”

Hal’s grin expanded briefly, then died down. 

“No siblings then?” He asked.

“No.” Draco sighed. “It’s always been just me and my mother. Well. And father, until he died.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

Hal hummed. “My uncle died when we were four. I only have a few memories of him, I think Ley has a bit more.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care. He wasn’t very nice.”

Draco huffed a joyless laugh. “Neither was my father.”

For a moment they didn’t speak, as they both attached their letters to the leg of an owl, and sent them on their way. Harry’s would go to a regional centre that connected to the Muggle posting system, Draco had learnt through Hermione. Not that he had asked. You usually only needed to be in a two meter range of her to learn something, really. 

It was Draco who spoke again, eventually. For some reason, he felt like he could tell Hal anything without being judged. He hadn’t known him long, and didn’t know him well either, but Draco didn’t think he would speak of others behind their backs. Maybe it was the way his face scrunched up every time yet another person told him something they’d heard or thought they knew about him or his parents.

“My father would have gone ballistic, seeing me in Ravenclaw.” 

Hal turned a curious gaze on him.

“Is the House you’re sorted into really that important?” 

“It is for some people.” Draco said. “My entire family, for generations, have been Slytherins, both on my mother and father’s sides. It happened before, one of my mother’s cousins was sorted into Gryffindor – he was disinherited and burnt off the family tree.”

A little alarm bell went in Draco’s mind, because he suddenly remembered Sirius Black didn’t just have ties to his family, he had them with Hal’s too, and not in a good way. But if he could steer the conversation away from that, he’d be fine, and they never had to mention him again.

“Burnt off?” Hal repeated in confusion.

“My Aunt Walburga has this family tree tapestry, where she used to burn the ones she considered blood traitors. I wonder if I would have been one, too.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Hal deadpanned. 

They exchanged a look, and both cracked up laughing.

“I know, it’s ridiculous.” Draco admitted. “I only started realising that after my father died, you know. I probably wouldn’t be… well, anything like this, if he hadn’t died. I probably would be in Slytherin, and quite proudly so.”

“Are you glad you’re not, now?” Hal asked.

The question seemed open, bearing no judgement, simply curious, and it made Draco think about it.

“I don’t know.” He admitted eventually. “Part of me feels like I’m betraying my heritage, my father’s memory, and losing the right to be the Malfoy heir. Part of me… doesn’t want to be the Malfoy heir. My father was _driven_ by names, and reputations, and blood purity, and where did it get him? The Ravens are driven by free-thinking and knowledge-seeking, and I find myself feeling right at home with them, after years of having ideologies shoved down my throat.”

He stopped, feeling a little embarrassed at just how much he’d just revealed. But Harry just carried on looking at him like every word he said was relevant, and worth storing away. 

“I know how you feel.” He said after a short silence. “Not the… weird, archaic family values, obviously, but people who think they can tell you how to think and behave. I keep being told my parents were Gryffindors, like I should be glad and relieved to have ended up in the same house. What difference does it make? They’re still…”

He broke eye contact, looking down and shuffling some dried bird droppings and feathers with his foot.

“People say it like I’m meant to feel closer to them, because they probably sat in the same chair fifteen years ago.” He carried on, his voice small. “But I don’t. They’re dead, and I don’t have any memories of them.”

Before Draco could say anything, Hal laughed – it sounded a little strained, but it still brought a smile to his lips.

“Damn, listen to us. We’re eleven and we’re going on like sad old men.” He looked up, a twinkle back in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get down before all the food is gone.”

Hal took three bouncy steps across the room, and turned back, meeting Draco’s eyes again.

“For what it’s worth.” He smiled. “Blue suits you.”

* *

*

Hal and Draco had become a lot closer friends since their chat in the owlery. Hal was pleased to see Draco could actually have fun and his stilted education hadn’t ruined him forever. They didn’t have any more too-serious-for-your-age heart to hearts, they just started hanging out with the rest of their friends – Ron and Neville, who was following them around a bit meekly at first, but was coming out of his shell more and more, and Draco’s roommate Anthony – Ravenclaws were paired up in rooms, rather than having a larger dorm for all of them. It fostered studying, apparently.

They had fun evenings with Dean and Seamus in the common room and dorm as well, but the two had become fast friends, and spent all of their time together, to the point that their friendship became a little exclusive, with a lot of private jokes. Hal knew how it had felt to the rest of their friends, now, when he and Ley got going.

Hermione also spent a lot of time with them – she hadn’t really made friends with the other Gryffindor girls. Hal had briefly considered maybe she didn’t get along with the other girls because she was essentially a year older, but that only really applied to him – a lot of other kids had their birthdays in the later months of the year, and it seemed the rule was you could only start at Hogwarts _after_ you had turned eleven. It had felt odd to see her turn twelve when he was only just eleven, but she wasn’t the only one.

She said she appreciated the company of people who’d picked up a book in their life of their own volition – by which she meant Draco mostly, but the others seemed to be okay by association. She used that word, _volition_ , which made Ron comment it was no wonder she couldn’t make friends. Anthony told her to ignore him, and proceeded that day with using all the most obscure words he could slot into normal conversation (though the conversation quickly stopped being normal, and at several points in the day Hal couldn’t breathe for laughing too hard). 

Anthony was generally a really funny guy, and he had the most ridiculous imagination, always coming up with the wildest things. In one of those occasions, they stopped paying attention to the stairs because Anthony was retelling a story about Newt Scamander from the point of view of the Erumpent and they were all in tears, and they got hopelessly lost somewhere between the second and third floor.

“How do you come up with these things?” Ron managed to ask when he wasn’t doubled over in hilarity.

“This is the absolute truth.” Anthony put a hand over his heart, though his voice was shaking with laughter. “My father’s cousins in America were directly involved. Of course Rolf will probably tell you otherwise, but he’s a little biased because he worships the ground his grandfather walks on.”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. “Rolf, your cousin?” They had seen him around a few times, as Anthony greeted and talked to him. “His grandfather is Newton Scamander?” 

“Oh, so do you apparently.” Anthony quipped before turning to her. “Second cousin. And yes, I mean, his name is Rolf _Scamander_ and he’s thoroughly obsessed with magical creatures.” He pointed out. “Did you only just ask yourself that? I thought you were the smart one.”

“Oy.” Hal and Ron both said at the same time.

“Oh my god, Goldstein.” Hermione literally facepalmed, her hand slapping her forehead. “I don’t _worship_ him, but I did read his biography. He married a Goldstein. Your father’s cousins in America.”

“And then there was light.” Anthony grinned.

“You’re related to Newt Scamander.” Hermione actually jumped up and down. “Not by blood, I know, but your second cousin is his actual grandson. This is so cool.”

“Says the girl who’s best mate with Harry Potter.” Anthony retorted. 

“Are you two dorks quite done now?” Draco intervened.

Hal had realised he had a tendency to do that when conversation took a turn towards a sensitive topic. Such as fame, or dead relatives. Part of him wanted to say he didn’t rescuing, but part of him (a stronger part, apparently) appreciated it.

“I didn’t write a book, though.” Hal added to defuse the situation. “I’m obviously not nearly as cool as Newt Scamander.”

Anthony snorted, and they all finally looked up to see where they were.

Neither of them had a clue.

Neville, who had been relaxed and having fun so far as he did more and more the longer he spent time with them (they’d all understood his grandmother had been quite strict bringing him up) started panicking immediately. 

“We’ll miss the next class!”

“Our next class is Divination, I can live with that.” Anthony said. “What do you guys have next?”

“Potions.” Hal sighed. “As if Snape did hate me enough.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Draco sighed. 

“He just always has that face like he stepped in something gooey.” Anthony added.

Draco glared. Hal had noticed he was rather defensive of Snape, actually. 

“He hates all Gryffindors.” Hal insisted. “And me in particular. I told you how he picked on me all of our first lesson. I’m not crazy, right?” He turned to Ron and Hermione for back up, and they both nodded and gave other examples. 

(Meanwhile, Hermione was using a _Point me_ spell she had learned the day before and the corridors were starting to look familiar again.)

“I’ll talk to him.” Draco suddenly said.

“You… sorry, what?” All of them asked variations of the same. 

Draco turned an embarrassed look to Hal in particular. “He’s my godfather.” He confessed. “So I’ll talk to him.”

There was a moment of silence, which Anthony broke.

“My condolences.”

And with that, they all cracked up again – even Neville, terrified as any mention of Snape always made him look.

* *

*

They’d made it – just – and endured double potions with Slytherin. Hal tried to see Snape in a different light knowing he was Draco’s godfather, he really did, but it was very hard when the man sneered at him whenever he looked in his general direction, belittled Neville constantly and almost rolled his eyes every time Hermione gave a right answer. He wondered if whatever Draco could say to him would really make a difference, but it could hardly be much worse anyway. Which was a shame, because Hal actually quite liked potions, in theory. 

After the class, Ron and Neville went straight for food, while Hermione ran to the library as if the books were going to fly off if she didn’t get to them fast enough. They met with the Ravenclaws on the way out, and Draco declared there was no time like the present and went to find Snape in his office. Hal and Anthony had consumed a humongous breakfast that morning, after challenging each other for who could eat the most hash browns, so they elected to make their way to the Astronomy tower where they had their next class together. 

Then almost ran into Peeves and, in trying to escape his notice, ended up on a rogue staircase again.

“Brilliant, we’ve lost him.” Anthony commented as the poltergeist went through a wall some distance away.

“We’ve lost ourselves too, though.” Hal noted.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, what is wrong with this castle?”

Hal hummed thoughtfully, looking at the corridor they started walking through – since the stairs had fucked off again, leaving them with no way down in the direction they’d just come from.

“Do you think there’s some intelligence behind it?” He wondered out loud. “As opposed to it being completely random.”

Anthony stopped in his step, one foot in the air, then spun around to consider.

“Maybe, actually. I feel like there would be more casualties if there wasn’t at least some form of consciousness behind it. People never fall, do they. Why do you ask?”

“Because this is exactly where we ended up earlier.” Hal said. He pointed back to the entrance of the corridor. “I remember that suit of armour. The hands have six fingers.”

“Oh, spooky.” Anthony frowned, as they resumed walking. “So your theory is, what, the castle is trying to tell us something?”

“No, it could be a great big joke.” Hal shrugged. “It just seemed a bit of a coincidence. Oh, come on.”

They’d come to a locked door. Hal made extra sure by shaking the handle and kicking the bottom of the door a few times.

“Dead end.” He sighed. “We’ll have to go back and wait for the stairs.”

“Hold on. Something my father taught me. _Alohomora_.” The door opened with a click and Anthony beamed like he hadn’t actually expected it to work. “Neat!”

They walked through and Hal thought it smelt like that time they’d visited a mate’s grandma’s house, who had five dogs, on a rainy day. Then they looked up. 

“Not neat.” Anthony breathed out, scrambling for Hal’s sleeve and pulling him back.

They fell backwards in a tangle, rushed to their feet as the door mercifully clicked shut, and ran – though there would have been no way the massive heads could come through the door, let alone the body – and only stopped when they reached the six-fingered suit of armour, and the edge of the staircase. The bannister was up, but they could see a flight of stairs lazily spinning towards them.

“What the fuck.” Anthony blurted out. He sounded more shaken than Hal had ever heard him sound - that boy was _fearless_ , he was worse than Ley. “What the actual fuck.”

“I think.” Hal said, catching his breath, and surprising himself with this moment of lucidity. “I think that was the third floor corridor on the right hand side.”

Anthony stared at him for a second before he remembered, from Dumbledore’s start of year speech, what he was on about, and burst out laughing. Hal followed suit, and they spent a couple of minutes in hysterics, releasing the shock of what had just happened. 

* *

*

Draco thought his conversation with Severus had gone well, all things considered. He had been his grumpy old self at first, when Draco was trying roundabout ways to make his point and getting absolutely nowhere, so in the end he’d asked point blank.

“Why do you not like Harry?”

His godfather has been surprised enough by the question to drop his sneer. 

“Why does it matter?” He retorted. 

Draco appreciated that he respected him enough not to deny it.

“He’s my friend.” He pointed out. 

“Is he now.” The sneer was back.

Draco didn’t say anything else, he just gave the man the pointed look of utter disapproving nonchalance he’d learnt from his mother. It had worked on tougher characters, and eventually Severus sighed.

“He’s an entitled little brat.” He assessed. “Just like his father was. They’re the kind who just take, and take, with no considerations for others.”

Draco frowned. “He’s not like that.”

Severus scoffed. “Trust me. I spent enough time in James Potter’s unfortunate vicinity.”

“This is _Harry_ Potter we’re talking about.”

Severus missed the iciness in Draco’s voice as he continued to vent.

“Yes, precious Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Famous Harry Potter, who thinks everything will be handed to him.”

“Sev.” Draco interrupted sharply. “Hal is _not_ like that.”

This actually gave the man pause, and he mouthed with some confusion. “Hal?”

“That’s what he prefers to be called.” Draco informed him. “Because being _the famous Harry Potter_ for something he never chose to do, doesn’t define him.”

“Fine.” Snape snapped. “I get it, you want to be his friend. How do you know he won’t become a bully?”

Draco frowned again. “How do you know he will?”

Sneer and scoff came back full force. “He’s the spitting image of his father.”

At that, Draco became very still, and with all the cold snobbery he knew he could put in his voice, he said very calmly. “So am I.”

This time, it was his godfather who looked back at him, finally, instead of the angry Potions master.

“Draco, it’s not…”

“Not the same?” Draco cut him off, still in a chilling tone. But he saw the flash of regret and affection in Severus’ eyes, and he softened. “How many times have you told me I’m nothing like my father?”

“Many times.” Severus nodded. “Because you are not. Lucius was…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Right.” Draco let that one slide. “So, why should he be?”

Severus stayed silent for a minute, before eventually letting out a sigh. 

“You’re right.” He admitted ruefully. 

Draco huffed. “Yes, I know I am.”

Severus actually smiled – rare were the ones ever blessed with the sight. 

“Alright, stop being smug and go to class.”

Draco liked ending on a positive note – he scampered. He didn’t really have time to go for any lunch anymore, but he reckoned he could nick some scones from Ron – he always grabbed extra for later, the greedy git. Hollow legs, though, he was a proper beanstalk, towering over the lot of them.

Although, Draco realised now he thought about it, Hal was catching them up. When he’d met him over the summer, he was this pint-sized firecracker. Now, he seemed to be almost of a height with Draco, who wasn’t small for his age.

“Eh, hello.”

Looking up, Draco realised he was by the library, and he’d walked right past Hermione. 

“Oh, sorry.”

“Lost in thought? Did it go wrong with Professor Snape?”

“No, it was alright actually.” Draco smiled. “I think he’ll be nicer. I was just thinking that Hal has already grown quite a bit since I first met him.”

“Oh.” Hermione breathed out excitedly, like she did when she knew an interesting fact. Which was always. “I read about that actually.”

Draco laughed. “You surprise me.”

“Oh, shush. I read that growth and magic are closely connected in wizarding children, and that it isn’t uncommon for Muggleborns to only have their growth spurt after starting school, because their magic would not have been known and encouraged before that point.”

“Really?” Draco asked honestly. 

He’d never heard that before – unsurprisingly, Muggleborns being rarely discussed at all in his circles – but it was interesting. It made sense. He _had_ heard that witches and wizards with a stronger magical core tended to be healthier and heal faster, or that traumatic experiences could on the other hand damage someone’s ability to cast certain spells. So it wasn’t that much of a stretch that magic in a child would develop alongside their body, feeding the energies back and forth and thriving alongside one another.

“Really.” Hermione had kept talking. “Well, obviously it’s not always the case in everyone, some witches and wizards stay small, and the usual genetics still apply, but it seems like in the same way a lack of food, light and love can stunt a child’s growth, so can a lack of magic. Well, use of magic, if you have it. I’m guessing that is what is happening to Hal. He’s thriving now he’s started practicing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he grew into a very powerful wizard.”

Oh, not her too, Draco thought desperately, and he couldn’t help it if his voice dropped a few degrees of warmth again, as it had earlier facing Severus. 

“Why, because he survived the Killing Curse?”

He really would have to take a moment, at some point, to ask himself why exactly he was so defensive of Hal as a person, more so than for the rest of his friends. But in response, Hermione’s eyes widened. 

“Oh. No, I hadn’t even thought of that. I don’t think what happened then has anything to do with Harry’s power, I doubt any one year-old would have that kind of magic either way. No, because his parents were really talented.”

It was Draco’s turn to look surprised. “How do you know that?”

“School records.” She said breathily. “I was looking up what the highest scores for OWLs and NEWTs had ever been, and…”

“Hermione.” Draco snorted. “These are fifth and seven year exams. Please don’t tell me you’ve started studying for them.”

Hermione flushed a light red.

“Well, no, I mean.” She babbled, flustered. “Not exactly, but there isn’t any harm in getting some information, is there. Anyway. What I was saying was. James Potter is really highly ranked in a lot of them, he was brilliant. And Lily Evans was best in her year in Charms for OWLs _and_ NEWTs and her Potions grades are right near the top as well. Actually, in her NEWTs, she only came second to Professor Snape, but well, he got full marks there so it’s hard to top that.”

Draco briefly wondered if he’d find his parents in these rankings, and immediately decided he didn’t want to know either way. He gave Hermione a little pout.

“I don’t know if these things are hereditary.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t surprise me, for Harry. He’s clearly got a good gene pool going for him.” 

Draco didn’t really get a chance to further comment, as they turned the corner to the corridor and came into view of Hal and Anthony, who came running towards them.

“You are never going to believe what we just saw!”

* *

*

After a week or so, they had all gotten past the excitement of knowing there was a massive three-headed dog on the third floor of their school, as every teacher seemed to be intent to pile on as much homework as possible before Halloween.

Draco would even say Hal had become too quiet, often withdrawn and almost gloomy. He found him outside one Saturday only a couple of days to the end of the month, on the banks of the Black Lake, and he sat down beside him in spite of the cold, pulling his scarf tight around his neck.

“What’s wrong.” He asked in a demanding tone.

He knew if he mollycoddled him, he would get no answer. Hal was stubborn that way.

Hal sighed, didn’t say anything for a bit, but surprisingly didn’t try to say it was nothing, as Draco had seen him do to Ron and Hermione. 

“Halloween.” He mumbled. 

“What about it.”

Hal shrugged. “I miss my family.” 

He stopped, and Draco let the silence stretch until he continued. 

“Ley and I always dress up together and make a crazy night of it. It’s going to be weird not doing anything with him this year.” 

He swallowed like he was fighting down tears, and Draco knew he couldn’t understand, not really, not having grown up with siblings. He carefully didn’t say anything still. He could tell there was more than that bothering him.

“And the first of November…” Hal eventually spoke again quietly. “That’s when I came to live with them.”

Oh, _shit_. Of course. Draco had flashes of words he had seen together, and should have remembered. _Fall of the Dark Lord. October 31st, 1991. Godric’s Hollow._

“It’s always a weird time.” Hal was saying. “Having so much fun with Ley, and the anniversary, and seeing my aunt all sad and… and now neither of them are here. And I love it here, but I want to be home.” He confessed. 

After a moment of not knowing what to say, Draco thought it was best not to make a big deal of the revelation by trying to comfort him. It would probably just make him feel worse. He couldn’t replace his cousin by suggesting to dress up with him, he couldn’t help him pretend Hogwarts was home, and he couldn’t make it any easier for him being days away from a date the wizarding world _celebrated_ for what it meant to them, forgetting what it meant for Harry.

So instead, he asked:

“Did you get a letter back? My mother wrote to me exactly 34 words. I counted them, that’s how short the letter is.”

_My dear Draco,_

_I am glad you like your house, and I do not think any less of you._

_Life here carries on much as usual._

_Give my regards to Severus,_

_Your loving mother_

Hal gave him an odd look, but he seemed to take the opportunity to stop with the doom and gloom, and answered in a much lighter tone.

“Yeah, actually. Ley says school sucks but I think he’s doing alright, he seems to have mates. And I’d asked my aunt about my parents’ school friends, I thought it’d be nice to see photos of them, or at least get an idea of who they were. She didn’t have any last names, but she said there was a kid from Cokeworth they met when they were young, Sev, and he was one of my mom’s closest friends at least until fourth or fifth year, and there was a Marlene, and then when she was a bit older and she started dating my dad she seemed to talk a lot about his friends, who were Peter, Remus and Sirius.”

Draco reeled from the several different pieces of information in that statement, and decided to take them one at a time.

“Okay, wait, Cokeworth?”

“Yeah, it’s somewhere in the Midlands.” Hal provided. “That’s where my mom and my aunt grew up.”

“That’s where my godfather grew up.” Draco mentioned.

“Seriously? Snape?”

“ _Severus_ Snape.” Draco laughed. “Sev.”

“Oh my god.” Hal laughed too. “Do you think that’s him?”

“Cokeworth is not a very big place.” Draco pointed out. “And it’s not a magical village, so the chances that there was another wizard the same age called _Sev_? Not so high, I’d say.”

“Weird.” Hal chuckled. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready to go ask him for stories about my mom when she was younger, though.”

“Right, well, Sirius, I think I know as well.”

“Okay, now it’s creepy.” Hal said, but he was still laughing, and Draco was irrationally pleased to see he felt better.

“He’s my mother’s cousin.” He informed him. “Sirius Black. Actually, I mentioned him before, he’s the one who got burnt off the tapestry for being a Gryffindor. He was best friends with James, I think he actually spent the summers at the Potters since his own parents didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

Too late, Draco remembered why he hadn’t revealed this the first time around, and the whole other reason why We Do Not Talk About Sirius Black and realised that he shouldn’t, really shouldn’t have mentioned him at all. There was no way for him to backpedal when Hal asked:

“What is he up to now?”

He cleared his throat, heart sinking. He didn’t want to lie to him, even if there hadn’t been a high probability he would find out another way.

“Azkaban.”

“What’s Azkaban?”

“Prison.” Draco replied quietly. 

Hal remained silent, and Draco really hoped he wouldn’t ask what for. But as the silence stretched, he couldn’t stand it and volunteered the information – well, the safer part of it.

“Association with the Dark Lord didn’t go down well, after the war ended. Quite a few people were tried and condemned. My mother’s sister and her husband are in Azkaban too.”

“I see.”

“Hal…” Draco did not know how to act, what to say. “Don’t look him up.” He only advised with a hint of desperation.

“It’s fine.” Hal didn’t quite snap, but his voice was dry. “I guess trying to find out about my parents’ friends was a stupid idea anyway.”

“It’s not.” Draco countered softly. “You have every right to want to get to know who they were.”

“Yeah.” Hal scoffed. “For all the good it’s doing me. So far, one’s a teacher who hates my guts and the other is in jail for associating with the man who killed them.”

Suddenly possessed by his inner Ronald Weasley, Draco changed tactics and punched him on the upper arm. He almost laughed out loud at the look of outrage on Hal’s face as he turned to him, mouth open, cradling his shoulder.

“Alright, stop moping.” He told him before Hal could say anything (presumably, _What was that for?_ ). “So you don’t know much about your parents’ friends at school, and what you know isn’t great. Maybe it’s better this way. I know who my parents’ friends are, and they’re all followers of You-Know-Who or posh arseholes who don’t care either way as long as _they_ stay rich and safe. Sometimes both. People just suck, Hal. Don’t worry about it.”

A startled laugh pushed past Hal’s lips, and Draco felt a little smug. It was like a superpower, making Hal laugh.

“Meanwhile.” Draco carried on. “There is a large three-headed dog in our school, so unless they take it out as entertainment for the Halloween feast, we have a mystery to solve, don’t we?

Hal’s smile was genuine, at last, when he said: “No shit, Sherlock.”

Draco got a bit lost in the subsequent explanations about who this Sherlock was.

* *

*

Anthony had suggested to rope in his cousin Rolf, because he did know an awful lot about magical creatures. He was a year above them, in Ravenclaw, and it hadn’t been easy to pin him because he skipped most meals in favour of walking the grounds trying to catch glumbumbles, but they managed to find him and sit around him (Gryffindors included) at the Halloween banquet – minus Draco, who had noticed Snape wasn’t at the teachers’ table, had said something about him being a killjoy out of principle, and decided to bring him some of the pumpkin pie he secretly loved down to his office.

“What would a giant dog with three heads be used for?” Rolf repeated what Anthony had tried – and failed – to make sound like an innocuous question.

“Yeah.” Anthony grinned widely, as Rolf regarded all of them, obviously much too interested by the answer, with a curious look. “Hypothetically.”

“Well.” Rolf said cautiously. “Cerberus dogs are known to make good guard dogs, on account of, you know, three heads. They’re not always that vicious but they’re a good deterrent. And some breeds grow very big, so they’re quite closely regulated.”

“Guard dogs.” Anthony nodded thoughtfully, putting on a serious face – it didn’t suit him. “Hmm.”

“Yeah.” Rolf frowned. “I mean, I don’t see what else. They don’t have specific magical abilities or properties otherwise, as far as I know. What’s going on?”

Before Anthony could get a word out – the implied expectation from the other boys being that it would be his responsibility to lie to his cousin, since they’d decided together not to tell anyone else about the dog – Hermione started chattering. 

“My friend Emily from back home is studying the Greek mythology at school, and I was curious to see what the links were between the creatures in the myths and real fantastic beasts. I love your grandfather’s book, by the way. But anyway, she has to pick a creature and do a presentation on it, not only about Greek myths but also including any presence of that creature or a similar one in other lore, and I told her Em, you’ve got to pick Cerberus – because I remembered reading something about three-headed dogs in a book here and I thought, Oh that’s interesting! You know for example I did not find any evidence that hydras or gorgons are a thing, though maybe they were and they’re extinct, but Cerberus dogs are still around and I thought well _obviously_ there isn’t just one guarding Hell, you know, so in a non-mythical, but very much magical, world, do they have a purpose, or are they just, well like you said, guard dogs. And I don’t know if they are materials I can direct her to that don’t break the Statute but I thought if they _are_ a common magical creature then there must be Muggle reports in other legends across the world, between the ancient Greeks and now.”

“They’re not that common.” Rolf let out as she paused for breath for more than half a second.

“Oh, are they not?” Hermione smiled. “That’s okay, I can’t exactly tell her either way. Well, thank you for your help. I’m going to go get some of those acid apple chocolates before they’re all gone.”

She hopped off the bench and walked away, just like that. It took the boys a second to pick up their jaws and follow her, catching her up as she settled back down at the Gryffindor table. They sat in stunned silence for another minute, until she looked up.

“What?”

Hal laughed. “Hermione Granger.” He said in the breathless bewilderment they all felt. “That was fantastic. I never knew you could like through your teeth with such a straight face.”

“Well.” Hermione flushed, but she looked pleased. “I do have a friend Emily. And actually, I think I raised a valid point. I do wonder...”

The conversation was cut short as a voice started echoing down the hall, beyond the doors, accompanied by hurried footsteps.

“Oooolll…” The sound started to become distinguishable words as Professor Quirrell barged into the Great Hall, waving his arms around. “There’s a troll! THERE’S A TROLL!” Students stumbled out of his way as he kept shouting. “THERE IS A MOUNTAIN TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!”

Confused murmurs rippled across the room, leaving rise to panicked voices, and soon even screams of fear. Teachers were on their feet, making fruitless calming gestures, while some students started scrambling off the benches with no plan of what to do next.

Hal, immediately, looked around for Draco. He wasn’t back.

“When did Draco leave?” He asked urgently.

“I guess about ten, fifteen minutes ago?” Anthony hazarded. 

“He’ll still be in the dungeons.” Hal said sharply. “Where a freaking _troll_ is too, apparently.”

“Oh, shit.” Ron breathed helpfully.

As Quirrell stumbled, babbled and collapsed, the panic increased but was channelled at the same time as teachers instructed prefects to gather the students in their respective houses and take them back to their common rooms – bar the Slytherins, whose return to the dungeons was obviously ill-advised. 

In the commotion, Hal ducked, and whispered to his friends. “I’m going to find Draco.”

“What the hell, Har-”

“GRYFFINDORS, WITH ME!”

“Harry!”

Hal saw a breach in the crowd and disappeared into a corridor, confident he hadn’t been seen. There were footsteps following him but he suspected one of his friends, going by the lack of angry shouting for him to _Come back here!_ , and he only stopped and turned around once he was at the top of the stairs leading to the dungeons. Anthony had tagged along.

“Is this the famed Gryffindor bravery I’ve heard so much about?” He teased.

“Doesn’t add up with your lack of Ravenclaw wisdom right there, if you’re coming too.” Hal quipped back.

“Yes, because you going off alone after a troll sounds much wiser to me.”

Hal went serious again. “I’m not going after a troll, I’m going to make sure my friend is okay.”

Anthony shrugged. “Fair enough. Then let’s go.”

He darted down the stairs, and Hal was now the one following him. They headed in the direction of the Potions classroom, and Snape’s office, and they were only halfway there when they ran into Draco, completely fine and oblivious.

“Oh, hi. What are you both doing here? What’s wrong?” Draco frowned, eventually noticing the look on their faces.

“We need to get out of here.” Hal grabbed his wrist.

“I was just on my way up, Severus isn’t in his office, what is the…”

A resounding roar cut him off as it filled the corridor, echoing around them.

“So here’s the thing.” Anthony whispered. “We came to get you because there’s a troll on the loose. We didn’t want you to run into it unknowingly.”

“Oh good.” Draco said dryly, his voice low as well. “Sounds like now I can run into it knowingly.”

“If you could be quiet and argue later.” Hal hushed.

They started moving backwards in the direction Draco had come from, semi blindly, wands out and trained in front of them, listening for the scraping sounds of something large shuffling in the corridor ahead, out of sight. They turned a corner, hoping for a way out, and instead found themselves in a dead end.

“Crap.” Hal breathed.

“With our luck.” Anthony commented wryly. “There is probably a three-headed dog on the other side of that wall.”

Hal snorted loudly, and it was only Draco’s education that prevented him from doing the same. Unfortunately, it seemed to cause the scraping noise ahead to move with more intent in their direction. Hal pointed to one of the doors on the side of the corridor, but they only had time to take one step. The scuffing, the grunting, the _smell,_ everything had been coming nearer and nearer and the next moment, the troll emerged at the end of the hall. The three of them froze, eyes fixed on the beast blocking out almost the entire height and width of the corridor, a large club its hand. 

“No sudden movements.” Anthony breathed.

Hal swallowed back that this wasn’t Jurassic Park – it wouldn’t have helped, and he didn’t know if a mountain troll did have anything in common with a T-rex. It didn’t seem very likely, and the reference would most likely have been lost on his friends either way.

“I have an idea.” Draco said, still as quietly as possible. “That passage over there leads to the potions storeroom. It’ll be alarmed, if we try to go in, the teachers will know where we are.”

“Dray, that’s halfway up the corridor!” Hal whispered back worriedly.

“I’ll go.” Anthony said with determination. “Distract it.”

“What?!”

“Cover me.” He urged. “Be creative.”

And with that, he opened fire with a quick firework spell that whizzed past the troll’s head and popped behind it, causing it to turn his massive head long enough for Anthony to dash and disappear into the alcove – so much for no sudden movements.

Draco gathered himself before Hal, and before the troll could fully turn back to where it had perceived one of its prey had moved, shot a stinging hex towards it. It didn’t have quite enough range and sloped downwards to land on its foot, and didn’t seem to have much effect at all, except in drawing the monster’s attention to the two of them.

Emboldened by the way the troll didn’t seem to know where to look and kept following the sparks with its whole head looking incredibly stupid, Hal and Draco carried on firing all the spells and hexes they could think of, most of them harmless, while Anthony was giving the storeroom door his all. It held strong, true to form – Snape’s wards after all were as legendary as his scowl.

Unfortunately the trick only worked for a minute or so, until the beast shook its shoulders and let out an angry roar, slammed its club against the floor, and charged. It obviously didn’t think Anthony – nearer, louder, but hidden in the shadows – was worth pursuing, and went in a straight line right for the other two, and _fast_ , much faster than a dumb-looking thing of that size would have been expected to move.

Hal couldn’t exactly say what happened next, he only knew that he saw Draco’s pale face go even paler than normal, he heard Anthony scream, and he thought _shield_. Everything was very loud and flashy for a moment and the next thing he knew, he was glancing up from where he and Draco were huddled against the wall, the troll was on the floor, Anthony was looking bewildered some distance away, his wand pointed at it, and several Hogwarts teachers were standing nearby staring at the mess – Snape in front, looking like he had just fired the decisive spell that had felled the beast.

“What.” He was the one to speak. “Happened here.” His tone was cold, but Hal did not miss the worry in his eyes as he looked over at Draco.

“As far as I can tell.” Dumbledore’s voice piped up. “The troll attacked and Mister Potter did a remarkable job with a shielding spell for him and Mister Malfoy, while Mister Goldstein – quite bravely I may say – fired a number of stinging hexes at its back. Then you arrived, Severus, and…”

“I know what happened next.” Snape snapped. “What I don’t know is why three first-year students seem to be stupid enough to try and break into the potions storeroom while a troll is wandering about the dungeons.”

“We weren’t trying to break in.” Draco spoke, and Hal felt grateful, because he was in all likelihood the only one who would be able to appease the man, if anyone could at all. “It was a call for help.”

He explained how he’d left the feast to find his godfather, how Hal and Anthony had wanted to warn him about the troll, how they’d unfortunately ran into said troll, and how they’d done the best they could think of from there. He astutely pointed out that he had been in the path of the troll all along, oblivious, and that if Hal and Anthony had gone to a prefect or teacher instead of running after him, it probably would have been too late by the time they found him.

“I believe.” McGonagall commented next. “You have all been incredibly lucky. But for your quick thinking in finding a way to call for assistance, Mister Malfoy, I will award fifteen points to Ravenclaw. For protecting your friends, Mister Potter, fifteen points to Gryffindor. And for your reckless bravery, Mister Goldstein, another fifteen points to Ravenclaw. Now, please go back to your common rooms. Quickly now, off you go.”

She made shooing gestures with her hands, and the three of them skirted around the unconscious troll to get out of the way. As they passed the group of teachers, Hal paused.

“Professor…” He addressed neither of them in particular, but Dumbledore looked over to him the most distinctively. “I’m not sure… Do you know what happened? I didn’t cast a shielding spell.”

“Ah, yes.” The headmaster smiled. “It seemed you reacted instinctively in the face of danger, and produced a non-verbal, wandless protection charm. It is akin to the accidental magic that occurs in young children. This tends to fade out when wizards receive their wands, but it is known to happen until puberty under intense emotion, such as you have just experienced, and more rarely after that.”

Hal nodded, not sure what to make of that. “Thank you.” He said.

He caught up with Anthony and Draco, and they made their way out of the dungeons. Neither of them spoke until they were back out in the main hall, and started climbing up the stairs.

“Thank you.” Draco broke the silence, echoing Hal’s words. He reached out and squeezed his wrist briefly. “For shielding us.”

Hal huffed, unimpressed at himself. “I didn’t do it consciously. I froze.” He admitted. “My wand was like a useless stick in my hand, I had no idea what to do, I just thought… I just thought we needed protection, I guess.”

“Well, it worked.” Draco said kindly. “So thank you. And for coming after me, both of you. Saved my life, probably.”

“Never a dull moment with you, hey Harry.” Anthony slapped him on the back. “Cerberus, troll… Keep that up and you have the makings of a magizoologist.” 

“Is that a… compliment?” Hal frowned.

Anthony laughed. “In my family it certainly is.”

They reached the point where they’d have to part ways, and Anthony darted towards the stairs leading up to Ravenclaw tower.

“Good luck with Hermione.” He glanced back. “Her face when you split was not a happy face.”

“See you tomorrow if I’m still alive, then.” Hal joked. “Cheers for your help down there, mate.”

“Don’t mention it.” Anthony grinned.

He walked off, but Draco held back a moment. 

“Back there…” He said hesitantly. “Did you call me Dray?”

It gave Hal pause as he tried to remember. “I guess I did? Sorry. It just slipped out.”

“No, it’s fine.” Draco mumbled. “I don’t mind. I never… Nobody’s ever given me a nickname, is all. It’s odd. I suppose you’re used to it.”

“You don’t have a dull name, though, so I guess it’s a bit different.” Hal pointed out. “Draco’s a nice name.” There was a pause, slightly awkward. “We should go up.” Hal eventually said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Draco could only smile back helplessly.

“Good night, Hal.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The 1991 (for the death of the Potters) isn’t a typo. I have modernised this by 10 years because… because. There are vague plot reasons (like I want Hal to have a phone), but mostly I just wanted to write things closer to my own age and experience.  
> 2\. I picked Anthony Goldstein as another Ravenclaw to accompany Draco in this house, thinking he’d have more backstory than others, what with having ties to the Fantastic Beasts series and to Luna’s future husband, and he sort of took a life of his own. I was also inspired by the fandom wiki page about the "boy who kept a bezoar in his pocket", who sounds hilarious.  
> 3\. I picture Rolf as basically a crossover between Newt and a male Luna :)


	6. November

It was not a good night for Hal. It had been late by the time he’d gone to bed, after facing Hermione’s disapproval at how he’d flouted the rules, her and Ron’s relief that they were all okay, Neville’s minor freak out even though all danger was over now, and the rest of Gryffindor’s eagerness to hear all about his facedown with the troll. He felt exhausted by the end of it all, and was pretty much dead to the world as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In spite of that, he woke up in a start after what felt like no rest at all, feeling nauseous. The dormitory was quiet, the other boys’ steady breathing telling him they were all asleep. He grabbed his glasses and his wand on the bedside table, and cast a quick spell Hermione had taught him to tell the time – it was seventeen minutes past midnight.

A knot in his stomach, Hal realised that in all the commotion, the ten-year anniversary of his parent’s death had gone right past him. As soon as the realisation hit, Hal knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, not as long as his heart was beating that hard in his chest. He sat up on the edge of his bed, trying to breathe deeply and ward off the beginning what was promising to be a cracking headache.

He’d never liked that part of Halloween night, the part that came after the fun and games, the costumes and treats; the part that was just night, leading up to the next day where, inevitably, Petunia would look a bit sad, and Hal would not be able to not be reminded that he was an orphan, and had never properly known his parents. But it had never been unbearable – because after all, he had a parent. His aunt was raising him as her own, he was loved and taken care of. He had a brother – he had never been lonely.

This year was different. He had been feeling a lot more depressed, in the run up to the date, and while he realised that he was probably a little (a lot) homesick and that not being able to dress up with Ley and stuff their faces full of sweets watching horror films did take a lot of fun out of the holiday, he wasn’t sure why it mattered so much. Sure, being in the world his parents had been a part of made a difference, he had been hearing their names a lot more, and that was part of it, but that was a constant. So he wasn’t sure why exactly he felt, now specifically, on the verge of a panic attack, affected by the date to an extent he had never been before. It wasn’t as if he remembered being there.

It hit him suddenly, with a wave of nausea that had him clamp a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t _known_ he’d been there. Well, he’d known, because he had a scar to show for it, but he’d never thought of himself as a witness of his parents’ death before. He hadn’t known what had happened. All his aunt had ever told him about that night was that Lily and James had died suddenly, and the next day Hal was brought to them. He’d imagined a car accident, or a house fire. He’d not asked for details, because he could see it was a sore topic, and quite frankly, he didn’t really want to know.

Particularly now, he wished he didn’t know. Because he’d been _right there_ , he fully realised now, as his parents were getting murdered in front of him. He couldn’t help but picture it now – he had been right there as a madman broke into their home, pointed his wand at his dad, at his mom, _killed them_ , and attacked him in the same fashion, only to get annihilated by what looked from here like sheer dumb luck. He had been a baby, for God’s sake. How did anyone even believe for a second he’d had any kind of special power, any choice in the matter? 

“Harry?”

He turned around at the whisper, and saw Neville peering at him from his bed.

“Nev.” Hal tried to acknowledge him, but it was barely audible as his voice broke.

Without a word, Neville got up, made a beeline for him, grabbed his arm, pulled him up, and walked him out of the room. Hal let himself be led until they were in the bathroom, sat on the large windowsill bathed in moonlight. Neville made him put his hands flat against the stone.

“I find the cold grounding.” He said quietly. “It might help. Just take deep breaths.”

Hal did just that for a long few minutes. Neville angled his head to look out the window, giving him time and space. Eventually Hal felt himself calm down, and as he let out a big sigh, the other boy turned back to him.

“Better?” He asked.

Hal nodded. “How did you know…” He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. What was going on? What to do?

Neville shrugged.

“I know what Halloween means to you.” He said. “I guess… ten years must feel like a milestone.”

“I guess.” Hal mumbled.

In truth, he didn’t see why a round number should make a difference. This year was unlike any other for a lot of different reasons, and the fact that it had been a decade was only a small one among them.

When Neville spoke next, it was in such a small voice Hal almost missed it. “Mine’s on the second.”

Hal was startled for a moment, as the implication crept in on him. He’d never asked himself (or Neville for that matter) how and why he’d been raised by his grandmother – he’d just accepted it as a fact about his classmate, never really questioning it. But now that he thought about it, it would mean that his parents were out of the picture, one way or another.

“How old were you?” He asked softly.

“One, like you.” Neville answered. “It happened two days later. After… after you…” He took a breath, swallowed. “The night You-Know-Who went after your family, and after he, he… disappeared. His followers had no idea what had happened or where he was so they… Tried to get information, out of people they thought would know.” He wiped his eyes, and Hal realised they’d welled up with tears. “My parents were Aurors.” He added. Hal had heard that word thrown around, he knew it was like the wizarding police. “They were captured and tortured.”

“God, Neville, I…” He didn’t know what to say to that. What did one say to that? 

“Sometimes.” Neville said in a very small voice. “I feel like you’re the lucky one.”

“What?” Hal blanched.

“At least they’re dead.” He sounded miserable. “It’s horrible, but it’s… simple.”

“Sorry, I thought…”

“Mine aren’t dead.” Neville clarified. “They’re in St Mungo’s Hospital. They don’t… know me. Or anyone. They don’t know who they are, who my grandma is, they don’t know about the war, or that they have a son.” His voice cracked and he wiped his eyes again. “They don’t know anything. They just exist.” 

He finally broke down into a sob, and impulsively, Hal lounged forward and pulled him into a hug, holding him as if they would float away, or dissolve, without each other to anchor themselves to the stone.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, Neville crying his heart out, and Hal only managing to not crumble because he felt like he had to hold it together for his friend. He wondered, for the first time since learning about the wizarding world, just how many children were also orphans of the war, like him, and for all intents and purposes, like Neville.

Eventually, Neville pulled back, and Hal realised he had stopped shaking for a few minutes.

“Wow.” He chuckled wetly, rubbing his face. “That was embarrassing. Thank you, Harry.”

“Hey, you started it.” Hal nudged him with his bare foot. “Without you I’d probably still be freaking out.” 

He shivered, suddenly feeling the cold – it was no longer grounding. 

“Come on.” He hopped off the ledge. “Let’s get to bed. It has been a bloody long day.”

They went back to the dorm, and Hal didn’t cast another spell to tell the time, but by the time he finally to go back to sleep, he reckoned it must have been gone three AM. 

Ron had to drag them both out of bed in the morning, complaining and asking what was wrong with them today. They exchanged a look, and they both knew they wouldn’t say a word to anyone else about what had transpired.

Neville seemed to fare decently well throughout the day, but Hal felt like he was sleepwalking into each hour. By the time their last class rolled around, he was all but dozing off at his desk.

Unfortunately, their last class was Potions.

“POTTER!”

Snape’s bark startled him so badly he knocked a vial of ox blood off the table. It smashed on the floor in a hundred glass pieces and red splashes. Hermione immediately drew her wand and vanished the mess, earning herself a glare from Snape. 

“Put your things away, Potter, you are a danger to yourself and others.” The man ordered. 

There were a few snickers among the Slytherins, and a few discreet groans among the Gryffindors as they all fully expected points to be decked off from their house. However, Snape just looked at Hal as he was tidying his ingredients away, something like conflict flickering on his face, and in the end he only added:

“You will stay behind after class.”

Hal sat there miserably for the rest of the hour, staring down at the table vacantly, trying not to fall asleep, as his classmates finished their potions and wrapped up. Ron patted him on the back on his way out, Neville gave him a weak smile and Hermione whispered _Don’t make it worse_. It was always nice to be reminded of her priorities. 

Snape waited until the classroom was cleared to come and stand in front of Hal, who looked up in what he hoped was respectful expectancy. He predicted a lecture, inquisition as to why he thought it was acceptable for him to not pay attention, ten points from Gryffindor and at least an essay to write, possibly detention.

He did not expect the man to sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose, and speak in calm, clearly carefully controlled words.

“It has been brought to my attention.” He said. “That I may have treated you with… unfair prejudice.”

_You mean Draco told you to stop being a nob_ , Hal thought – and thankfully, even in his tired state, did not say out loud. He simply blinked at the professor, unwilling to interrupt.

“I disliked your father.” Snape admitted plainly. “And I was biased against your physical resemblance to him. But.” He looked like he was implying that if Hal repeated any of this to anyone, he would murder him. “You are not your father. And you are my godson’s friend.” He paused before he added, a little softer. “And Lily was my friend, once upon a time.”

A fleeting look of pain passed on his features before they hardened again, and he drawled on. “This being said. If you behave in my class like you have today, ever again, I will not stand for it, Potter, are we clear?”

“Yes sir.” Hal quickly said.

“Good.” Snape nodded shortly. “Today, however, I do realise what the date is, so I will consider your extenuating circumstances, and accept that I owe you some leniency. Now go. And for Merlin’s sake, get some sleep.”

Hal didn’t need telling twice, and considering himself duly dismissed, he scampered. 

Ron, Hermione and Neville were waiting for him outside the door, bless them.

“Did you get a bollocking?” Ron asked, already wincing.

“Did not, actually.” Hal smiled. “Well, a bit. But it looks like Draco got through to him, at least to some extent. I got off easy.”

“Oh, what a relief.” Hermione sighed. “I don’t know _what_ you were thinking, Harry. In Potions, of all classes.”

“Yes.” Hal said wryly. “Because I consciously told myself – you know what, I will wait until Potions to doze off. Nothing to do with the fact that it’s the last class of the day and I’ve been running on about three hours’ sleep.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Hermione sighed, before she frowned. “Wait, why couldn’t you sleep?”

Hal shrugged, just as Ron stomped on her foot, just as her mouth opened in realisation. Neville looked like he was only just refraining from facepalming.

“Moving on.” He said instead.

* *

*

Hal had never given much thought to Professor Quirrell as a person – he was an alright teacher, the Defence classes were enjoyable, and so far he had been a neutral presence in the school landscape.

After Halloween, however, something seemed to change. The man was on edge, increasingly impatient with students – the fact that a lot of them were laughing behind his back doing impressions of him calling for help about the troll and fainting, probably wasn’t helping – and Hal had the distinct impression he caught Quirrell shooting him venomous looks every now and again. 

On one such occasion, Hal actually met the man’s eyes just as he was looking his way, and a blinding burst of pain shot through his head – through his scar, more specifically. He gasped and clutched the side of his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would help it go away. It didn’t.

“Harry.” Came worried whispers either side of him – Ron and Neville. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Hal managed through gritted teeth. 

The pain did fade after a couple of minutes, though he was left feeling nauseous. And a little paranoid – after Snape, it was a bit much to think _another_ teacher would have it out for him personally, but he couldn’t help but think he’d been proven right once, even though the Potions master’s attitude towards him had minutely mellowed. 

He knew he hadn’t done anything himself to wrong Quirrell, but he was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, so having an opinion about him was basically political positioning in the wizarding world. He’d legitimately seen an article questioning if the rise in ink and quills prices was due to his starting school, so who knew what national disaster the professor deemed he was responsible for.

“Harry.” Came another whisper – Hermione’s this time. “Does your scar hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Hal repeated, and it was a little bit truer this time around.

“If it hurts, I think you should speak to a professor.” She urged in a hush.

“It’s just a headache.” Hal mouthed back.

“It’s a magical scar, left by a curse nobody else ever survived.” She pointed out. “There is literally no precedent to document the after-effects this could have in the long term, and-”

“Miss G-Granger, anything you would like t-to share with the class?”

Hermione flushed a deep red as she turned back towards Quirrell and the front of the class.

“No, professor. I apologise.”

“D-do p-p-pay attention.” The professor instructed somewhat weakly, before carrying on with his lecture.

Somehow, Hermione glared at Hal like it was his fault.

The argument carried on all day, Hermione urging Hal to talk to someone if his scar was suddenly hurting, Hal insisting it wasn’t and wanting to hear no more about it, Ron and Neville staying carefully out of it. Anthony and Draco were only filled in at dinnertime, their respective classes having kept them separate till then.

“Leave him alone.” Draco intervened over pudding, just as Hal was about to snap after another of Hermione’s ‘ _just saying’_ remarks. “I’m sure Hal will act accordingly if it really starts to bother him.”

With that he artfully managed to take both sides and neither, Hal noticed. There was something very aristocratic about that – then again, he supposed the Malfoys _were_ aristocrats. If the way Draco held himself at the table was any indication, his education had been quite strict in that sense, at any rate.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as Fred and George came hopping towards them, as the last dishes on the long tables vanished.

“Hey little brother.” They greeted. “Hey friends of little brother. Hey Ravenclaw visitors.”

“Hey Fred.” They all smiled back – the twins’ good spirits were usually contagious like that. “Hey George.”

“Saturday tomorrow, any plans for the weekend?”

“Got a few essays to write.” Ron said. “The usual. Why do you ask?”

He clearly knew his brothers’ questions never came innocently. 

“Well.” George, of Fred, said. “We wanted to play a little Quidditch game, friendly, just to blow off some steam.”

The Quidditch season had _not_ started well for Gryffindor. The team had been absolutely battered in their first game, just after Halloween. According to Ron, the twins were incredibly frustrated, the team’s captain, Oliver, was a nervous wreck, and the new Seeker (a fourth year called Douglas) was a waste of space. Hal wasn’t sure how much of that statement was an objective assessment of the boy’s skill, and how much was due to the fact that another of his brothers, Charlie, had been Seeker in the previous years.

“But tomorrow is a Hogsmead weekend.” Fred, or George, continued. “We’re not going, but the rest of the team will be gallivanting away. Do you guys want to fill in?”

Ron, who had played this with his siblings before, Draco and Harry, who had really been enjoying flying lessons so far, and Anthony who was just always up for anything, accepted; Neville, who was hopeless on a broom, and Hermione who just wasn’t that interested in flying, said they’d be there to cheer them on.

The next morning, they had gathered enough people for a four-a-side game – one in each position. Fred and George remained as Beaters, and the rest was decided a little haphazardly – Ron and Lee Jordan ended up as Keepers, Draco and Harry as Seekers, and Anthony and a third year Hufflepuff called Rosie who may or may not have been Lee’s girlfriend (the introductions had been a bit jumbled at best) as Chasers.

The game was great fun. They’d managed to borrow training Quidditch balls, so it was as close as it could get to the real thing, and Hal truly discovered the exhilaration of flying for the sport, like he hadn’t been able to fully explore during their rather limited lessons. He found out speed didn’t scare him, rather the opposite in fact.

“Man.” Lee told him during one of their ‘strategy breaks’ – which was mostly Fred gesticulating to throw off the other team. “You’re a fast flyer.”

“Am I?” Hal wasn’t sure how to take the compliment – Draco had been flying shoulder to shoulder with him a lot of the time as they searched for the snitch, so he hadn’t thought much of it, and he didn’t have much more of a point of comparison.

“I would know, I’ve seen more games as a commentator than the people who play them. That Malfoy kid is good too, mind you. You’d both make good Seekers.”

Hal was pleased to hear that, having already made up his mind months ago to try and be part of the team the next year, and having at some point in the course of this game decided he would probably be trying out for Seeker. Lee was right, he would know – so hearing him say so made him think he might have a chance to make the team.

They carried on playing until, eventually, Hal saw the Golden Snitch. He spotted it above their heads, but he could tell Draco was watching him just as much as he was scanning his surroundings – because he was doing the same thing – and he knew at a glance that if he went straight for it, the other boy would get there first; he was just that much closer that Hal’s speed wouldn’t make up for it.

So instead, he dived, and sure enough, Draco followed. Then, at the last moment, Hal pulled sharply on the tip of his broomstick to make a hairpin turn back upwards. He heard Draco swear and crash into the soft grass behind him, as he flew right back up, and caught the Snitch just left of where he’d spotted it a minute ago.

Laughing out loud at the rush, he allowed himself a few happy circles in the air before landing back among the two small teams, who had already gathered. They all had looks of varying degrees of shock and awe on their faces.

“Was that-”

“Did he just-”

“Unbelievable.”

“A Wronski feint, Hal, really?”

That last one was Draco, brushing mud off his knees, but looking unhurt and smiling.

“A wrong what now?” Hal asked, still slightly out of breath.

“Wronski. Feint.” Ron corrected. “It’s a move. A dangerous one, at that.”

“Unbelievable.” One of the twins repeated. “The bugger has never played Quidditch in his life, he goes and does a successful Wronski Feint.”

“I didn’t know.” Hal said apologetically. “Is it against the rules?”

“Mate, no, it’s _amazing_!” Lee slapped him on the back. “Only great Seekers are able to pull that one off!”

Hal gave him a disbelieving look. “With no exaggeration, of course.” He deadpanned.

“No, honest!”

“I’m eleven.” Hal pointed out. 

“Well.” George piped up – Hal could tell it was him because at some point during the game, the twins had shouted each other’s names before getting into a quick mud fight, and he remembered which one had had the truest aim. George’s forehead was still smeared. “The altitude, speed and angle weren’t of professional-class proportions, sure.”

“But don’t let that take anything away from what a feat that was.” Fred added. “You’re a natural, Harry, that was truly great.”

“In fact.” George turned to his brother, who was already nodding like they’d had the same idea. “We might need to speak to McGonagall.” Fred finished.

“She won’t let him play.” Lee said, clearly the only one who had already caught up to their train of thought. “He’s a first year.”

“Yee of little faith.” Fred simply smiled.

* *

*

Draco couldn’t believe Hal had actually made the Quidditch team. Ron had warned them his brothers could be very persuasive, but there had not been a first-year student playing in a house team for over a hundred years, not since one apparently died (though Draco was pretty sure this was a school legend).

It had not been an easy sell, though Fred and George had praised Hal’s natural talent to Professor McGonagall with all their might, she had held strong for a long time. In the end, it was only because the current Seeker had gotten involved that the situation had changed.

Having heard what the twins were up to, he came foaming at the mouth during breakfast, the morning after they’d tried for the second time to convince the Head of House to let Hal on the team. His screams were hardly fully strung sentences, though the words “going behind my back” and “only because he’s Harry Potter” were recognisable – at which point Oliver Wood himself started shouting back.

“This has nothing to do with the fact he’s Harry Potter!” He roared.

He’d first thought the twins were mad, but they’d convinced Hal to play catch with enchanted potatoes for a bit of a demonstration, and he’d had to admit they were on to something.

“It’s because he’s actually good, while you wouldn’t catch a Snitch if it came flying into your face! You are an utter disgrace of a Seeker!”

It went on like that for twenty minutes, the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team going for it, as well as Ron, and a few players from other houses, with Hal looking like he was trying to disappear into the bench, and most other students cheering like it was a boxing match.

It was broken off by Professor Flitwick when Oliver and Marcus Flint, somehow, came to physical blows, by which time Douglas had quit the team and announced he hoped they would all burn in hell. Both Snape and McGonagall swooped in, took off house points where deserved, and Snape shepherded the Slytherins away.

“What have you done.” McGonagall sighed to the remaining group.

“I think we have lost our Seeker.” Fred astutely noted.

“Thankfully…” George pushed Hal forward and waggled his eyebrows.

McGonagall glared at him, and turned to Wood. “Who’s your reserve?” She asked.

“No one.” The captain shook his head. “Doug was the only one who tried out.”

“Thankfully…” George repeated, winking exaggeratedly.

“Oh, Merlin.” The professor sighed. “Let me speak to the headmaster.”

By lunchtime, Hal was officially the new Gryffindor Seeker, and the youngest Quidditch player in a century.

Draco thought congratulations were in order, ludicrous as the whole thing had been, and he was on his way up to his room to fetch a box of dark chocolate honeycomb – his mother had sent him that, and he loved the treats, he’d been saving them for a special occasion, and… well, giving them to Hal in those circumstances seemed like a special enough occasion – when he ran into a group of Slytherins. 

More specifically, Marcus Flint and another few players from the Quidditch team, who were not looking happy at all.

“Oy, little Malfoy.” One of the boys spotted him. “Saw you being all chummy with the Gryffs.”

“Like ending up in Ravenclaw wasn’t enough.” Another piped up. “Some Malfoy you are. Your father would be ashamed of you, he would.” 

Flint himself took a few steps towards him, looked down on him, and spoke in a menacing low tone. “Your boyfriend thinks he’s above the rules, does he? Swooping in to save the day, trying to be a hero again?”

Draco knew better than to retort to any of that – at the moment the boys were pissed off, and they would be looking for any excuse to get into a fight. He tried to simply walk away, but Flint shoved him.

“Look at me when I speak to you, you filthy blood traitor.”

Draco directed a sharp, steely glance up at the older boy. “Oh please.” He knew it was ill-advised to rise to the bait, but the term always triggered something in him. “What does that even mean?”

“What does it mean?” Another boy came forward. He snatched Draco’s bag off his shoulder. “Isn’t that in your books, little Ravenclaw bookworm?”

He tipped the bag over, throwing its contents onto the floor, and kicking one of the books away for good measure.

“It means get off my face.” Flint asserted wittingly.

He shoved him again, and he and his mates left, trampling all over Draco’s stuff along the way. Draco closed his eyes for a few seconds, sighed, and went to pick it all up.

He decided there would be no point in mentioning this little incident to anyone. It could have been worse, in the end, not much had happened. Draco didn’t even see why Flint should care that Hal was Gryffindor’s new Seeker – Slytherin had already played them and won, it wasn’t like he posed a threat.

Draco, for one, was looking forward to seeing him play. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have feels for Neville okay he deserves more credit


	7. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chunky one for you, with more headcannons/world building of my own.
> 
> I just wanted to clarify my portrayal of Narcissa; she’s mentioned a few times in this chapter, and I’ve made her sound like she’s not very nice, BUT, this is from the point of view of Draco, who’s a little affection-deprived, poor thing, and others based on what he told them. She loves him – and I do like fics where she absolutely dotes on him, but this isn’t how I’ve characterised her. I was sort of inspired by my own grandmother, who had that aristocratic side to her: feelings are crass, and they should under no circumstances be visible. I believe families like the Blacks and Malfoys would very much hold to attitudes like that, and parents won’t usually be very nurturing. But, while Draco may think she doesn’t care, we know she does :) 
> 
> Also I’ve made up some names for the Pureblood families, to fill in the ones that are not provided in any Wizarding World materials, but they’re not really OCs because they’re only mentioned.

It was tradition, among the Pureblood circles, to hold a grand Yule ball at the start of the holiday, when Hogwarts students returned to their family over the break. Historically, the Sacred Twenty-Eight would take turns hosting it. In recent decades, the list had lost some families – such as the Lestranges, of which all members were in prison – and gained others, such as the Zabinis, _nouveau riche_ of course but holding wizarding supremacy ideals strong and therefore considered more worthy of the honour than families like the Weasleys or Ollivanders.

This year, the Parkinsons were holding it, and Pansy _could not_ , shut up, about it. Draco was increasingly glad he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin, because even being in a different house he had more than enough of her constant bragging and chattering about the stupid ball. He would have to attend, of course, the Malfoys remained one of the purest and richest families and were guests of honours most places they went. Draco himself was considered heir not only to his father, but to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black too, for as long as Sirius wasn’t there to contest it. He was a very eligible young man indeed for all well-born witches.

At any rate, he had been. He wondered if it was still the case. Not all, but enough of the families in attendance at those chinwags were more than partial to Slytherin, and not being sorted into it was usually frowned upon, if not despised. Being friends with the Weasley boys would be bad enough for some, being friends with a Muggleborn would mean others wouldn’t even speak to him, like it was catching or something. Being friends with _Harry Potter_? That would earn him a few death glares, from among those who were less reserved about which side of the war they had been on.

“Do you really have to?”

Lost in thought, Draco looked up across the table at Hal. He’d only spoken after a few minutes of silence, after Draco had ranted about the ball for a bit, and as such Draco had almost forgotten what they were talking about. They were studying in the library, and he’d only really mentioned it because Hal, writing down the date for his essay, had commented it was only three weeks to Christmas, and had asked him if there were different traditions in the wizarding world.

“Have to what? Go to the ball?” He frowned as Hal nodded. “Yes, I have to. I’m not a child anymore.”

Hal looked startled. “Sorry, but you kind of are.”

“I mean.” Draco sighed. “All pureblood children go to these things from age five or six, when they’re considered able to hold themselves. I have no excuse. I represent my family.”

“You should be able to choose if you want to go or not.” Hal said. “Your mom can represent your family, if her idea of a good time is to spend it with all those tossers.”

An older girl on a nearby table shushed them, and they spent the next few minutes in silence again.

“It will be fine.” Draco eventually whispered. “Don’t worry about it.”

Hal had a little pout, but he didn’t say anything else on the matter. Draco didn’t think he would ever really understand – their upbringing had been too vastly different for these things to make sense to Hal. For him to understand the pressure of being the last of your name, even though it was the case for him too.

Christmas actually came around a lot quicker than expected – before they knew it, they were packing to go home for the holidays. It had been snowing for three days, and there was an air of excitement about. Draco did his best to pretend he was as wired up as the rest of them; in truth, he dreaded going back to his great empty home, he dreaded having to rack his brain to try and make conversation to his disinterested mother, he dreaded the ball, and he was going to miss his friends. 

He’d never particularly liked Christmas, he didn’t really see what the fuss was about at the best of times, but having been away at school, and realising he’d had more fun in these past few months than he’d had in years at home, he expected it to be an especially miserable one. He had never stopped to think about it, but with a new point of comparison, he was able to look back now and know he’d had a really dull life up to this point.

His only distraction would be going shopping – they always went on Christmas Eve with his mother, gathering trinkets for people he didn’t care about and she wanted to either subtly impress or subtly insult, and usually he followed along taking advantage of the holiday spirit to get her to buy him a few things he wanted. But this year, he actually had his own gifts to buy, and he was looking forward to that.

It had been Anthony’s idea, having their own little party and exchanging gifts after they were all back, to give themselves the time to get things that weren’t owl-order Honeydukes boxes.

“Small budget.” He’d instructed. “Those of you with big fortunes, don’t be dickheads about it, because the rest of us won’t be gifting above our means.”

Hal had enthusiastically agreed, before remembering he was one of the ones with a big fortune. Draco found it endearing, how he forgot about that. He supposed he’d only just found out about it, and he’d not yet had time to get used to the idea. He also guessed Hal did not actually quite know just how rich he was. But the Potter line was a very old one, its members had been clever wizards and good businessmen for centuries, and that was even before Hal’s grandfather invented the wizarding world’s best-selling hair potion. Hal was set for life, whether he realised it or not.

Hermione had suggested doing a “Secret Santa” – whatever that was – but in the end they had decided to all buy gifts for everyone else, something small, but they all thought it would be more fun to have a heap of presents going around. Draco saw it as a challenge: would he have gotten to know his new friends well enough, in barely even four months, to get them something they’d like? Would he find out they knew him well enough to get him something _he’d_ like?

The train ride was a great deal of fun, Hal and Anthony having somehow managed to come up with a whole new game loosely based on exploding snap but using chocolate frog cards – and the increasingly ludicrous rules they were making up to use all the cards was testament to just how many of those frogs they’d eaten between all of them.

At some point, they exchanged addresses – Hermione had asked a question about Christmas cards, wondering if they were a thing for wizards given the whole quill and parchment fashion they seemed to go for at school, and it had turned into this whole discovery about Muggle posting habits, greeting cards, and not least _postcards_. These sounded like they dramatically lacked privacy, but when Hal and Hermione challenged the rest of them to send each other Muggle postcards and see who could find the most horrendous one, they all had to agree.

Hal and Hermione changed out of their school robes shortly before they arrived, and there was something weird about seeing them wearing colours that weren’t red and gold. Hermione’s outfit wasn’t that outrageous in itself, a grey pinafore dress and black tights, but she covered it with a _teal_ coat that was quite eye-popping. As for Hal, he pulled on a green hoodie that just looked Slytherin and _wrong_. Draco did not like it one bit.

Going by the way Anthony turned his nose up at the sight, he was thinking the same. “We are getting you a red one.” He resolved. 

“Aw.” Hal looked down at himself. “I like this hoodie. It’s meant to match my eyes.”

Distractedly, Draco noticed it did, really, and quite nicely so.

“Mate, you can’t go around wearing Slytherin colours.” Anthony insisted.

Hal rolled his eyes. “It’s just a colour. And it’s not like it’s going to be a statement, out in Surrey.”

“It will be on the platform!” Anthony seemed to really worry at the thought.

Before Hal could argue – that he was being ridiculous, presumably – Draco pulled out his wand.

“Here.” He held up a hand so they would stop fighting. “ _Colovaria_.” Hal’s hoodie turned a burgundy red that wasn’t quite a statement either, but would appease Anthony. “It’s temporary.” He assured Hal, who looked crestfallen for a moment.

“And to think.” Hermione commented dryly. “I don’t hang out with girls because I don’t want to hear about the poor colour coordination of my outfits.”

* *

*

While a lot of kids met their families on the platform, Hal and Hermione went back through the barrier to find theirs waiting for them. They quickly exchanged _Bye_ and _See you soon_ and _Have a nice Christmas_ before they each ran towards their respective parents. 

Hal realised just how much he’d missed his aunt when he was wrapped into her arms, laughing and breathing in her familiar scent.

“Oh, darling.” She pushed him back after a bit. “Let me look at you. You’re so tall!”

Hal knew it was something adults said, although he had noticed he’d grown a fair bit in the past few months – his jeans felt a bit short on the ankles. Hermione had also mentioned something about being connected to his magical core, but he’d stopped listening in favour of watching Ron try to teach his rat a trick, unsuccessfully for about the 10th time.

“Mom, move!” Ley barged in impatiently.

He caught Hal into a headlock and they wrestled for a few minutes, Petunia looking on fondly, until she told them: “Alright, you both win.”

Somehow, the words still had the old magic they had held since they were four years old, and they stopped fighting in favour of jumping up and down, both beaming, talking excitedly over each other in a jumble of questions and anecdotes that definitely would need the rest of the holiday to unravel properly.

Hal’s aunt took them to lunch in London before they were due to get the train back. Hal started sharing some stories about school, in excited whispers whenever he mentioned something particularly unusual, although he supposed two young boys talking about magic wouldn’t even cause people to raise an eyebrow, let alone break the Statute of Secrecy.

Mostly he told them about Draco and Anthony, about Ron and Neville, about Hermione – Ley, obviously, asked him if he liked her, and he just punched her in the arm – and about the Weasley twins and their friends and their little Quidditch games.

“Oh, I’m on the team!” Hal realised he had completely forgotten to mention it in his letters. He was going to, but then figured he would need to explain Quidditch, and what a Seeker was, and reassure his aunt that broomsticks were quite safe really, and he’d decided to come back to that later, and hadn’t remembered.

“The sports team?” Ley nodded approvingly. “Way to go, cool kid.”

Petunia did not seem to think it was that cool. “Didn’t you say first years couldn’t try out?” She reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, well. I didn’t try out exactly?”

He still felt a bit odd about that, and he didn’t want any special favours or anything, but having been selected against the rules for his skill… that was nice. He wanted to be proud of that. He explained the friendly game – he had to go into a little detail about Quidditch, such as the fact that it implied flying on broomsticks – and Fred and George convincing their head of house, and the other player quitting…

“Wait, and their best solution was to have you, even if you’re not meant to be even allowed to try out?” Ley looked impressed. “You’re that good?”

Hal looked down, sheepish. 

“Well, I mean I’ve not played in a cup game yet, but I’ve trained with the team, and I guess I can hold my own with the rest of them, even though they’re all older.”

Ley whooped, slapping him on the back proudly – it was sports, he didn’t care what the game was or if he understood it at all, being part of the team was enough to be one of the popular kids in any school, magical or not – and his aunt smiled.

“Well done then, my Hal.” She said fondly.

“Actually, I wanted to ask.” Hal remembered. “While we’re here, or maybe before I get the train back, could we go to Diagon Alley? I’ve been given a special dispensation to get my own broomstick, since I’m in the squad. I’ll pay for it with the wizard money, it’s not a problem.”

“Don’t start spending that money on silly things without consideration.” Petunia chastised. “You have no point of reference to know how much you actually have.”

“It’s not a silly thing!” Hal argued. “And it’s not without consideration either. And I’ll find out how much money I have and how it compares, alright? I’m sure I can find out.”

Years of getting into trouble with Ley had taught Hal to be able to find the right arguments to make his aunt yield in a very short time.

“Well.” She sighed. “As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you if you needed to go to… for any specific things that we can’t find in normal shops. But I’m not sure I can take you.” She added. “I’m working every day apart from Christmas day and Boxing day, and you know how much there is to do at the weekends before Christmas.”

“I could ask my friend if I can go with them?” Hal suggested, remembering Draco had mentioned he would traditionally be going shopping with his mother. “Travel is… easier, for wizards. They could pick me up and drop me back off, I’m sure.”

“I don’t want to impose on anyone.” Petunia hesitated.

“Mrs Malfoy won’t mind.” Hal assured. He didn’t know the woman, sure, but from what Draco had told him of her, she didn’t sound like she would mind if her son brought home a whole marching band dressed in those rhinoceros costumes from the London marathon. “I’ll write to Draco, see what he says?”

“Alright.” She conceded. “If she wants to call me…”

“Err, I don’t think they’ve got a phone.” Hal interrupted. “Not really a thing among wizards.”

“No phones.” Ley commented. “Why do your people seem to live in the sixteenth century?”

Hal shrugged. “I guess magic means no need for technology.”

“Seems a bit reductive.” Ley noted.

“Trust me, once you’ve seen magic, everything else seems a bit reductive.” Hal retorted. When Ley didn’t look impressed, he added: “Mate, I am surrounded by talking and moving paintings all day, the stairs do whatever they want, there are ghosts floating about and I have a teacher who turns into a cat. Not having a phone doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

Ley humphed, and Petunia ruffled Hal’s hair.

“Don’t rise to it, darling.” She told him. “You know he’s only acting like this because he’s frustrated you can’t show him.”

“I wish I could.” Hal sighed. “But doing magic outside of school is forbidden until you’re seventeen.”

“I know, love, you told us that. And I for one think it is very reasonable.”

“But.” Hal grinned, shoving his cousin so he’d look up at him again. “I brought you some chocolate frogs.”

* *

*

_Dear Hal,_

_Of course you can join us on our shopping trip. Mother is thrilled I have made friends, of course, and has shown how much interest that warrants by not even asking for your name. Maybe introduce yourself as Hal when you see her. She probably wouldn’t care either way, but I guess your name still causes something of a stir in our circles, and she’s got appearances to think about, if anything._

_We’re going on Saturday 22nd, if that works for you. I don’t suppose you’re connected to the Floo network, so we will Apparate. If you can ask your aunt to clear the front room, that’ll be helpful. It’s not very pleasant to side-along, by the way, so I would recommend not having a heavy breakfast._

_We can go to Gringotts when we get there to pick up some money – and that brings us to your second question: if you really want to know the exact contents of your vault, you can ask at the bank. The Goblins don’t like it, they see the question as petty, or as being ignorant of what is yours, but there are wizard members of staff who will be happy to help._

_I look forward to seeing you. Things are pretty dull here. Hope you’re having a nice time catching up with your family!_

_Draco_

* *

*

Parkinson Hall was – in Draco’s humble opinion – a monstrosity. The house itself had originally been a grand sixteenth century mansion, probably quite alluring at the time, but each subsequent generation had made alterations, most of them ill-advised, and the result five hundred years or so later was something in very poor taste, both inside and outside. The less that was said about the topiaries, the better.

The decorations for the party were lavish, as expected, and Draco almost rolled his eyes at the unsurprising colour scheme – emerald green and silver. He briefly wondered if his mother would have done the same, had she been hosting, if he’d been sorted into Slytherin. He’d have liked to think she would be more subtle than that. At least there was no chance she would do their house in blue and bronze, when her turn to host came around.

He spotted Pansy when they arrived, trying to look older than she was in a long green dress, high heels and careful makeup. She wasn’t entirely succeeding, but she looked nice. She was flanked by Daphné and Gregory – who had taken to following them like a guard dog in the past couple of months – and clearly basking in the slightly envious looks they were getting from Astoria, Daphné’s younger sister, and the Carrow twins who were the same age.

Draco was surprised to see Millicent Bulstrode as well, with her father and brothers. For decades, the Bulstrodes had been shunned from these parties on the belief that they had bred with Muggles and their blood had been tainted. They must have finally managed to convince the rest of them that they were as pure as they came. Or, and Draco thought more likely, as Pureblood numbers dwindled, the rules had been relaxed a little as to who could be part of the circle. 

There were quite a few other Hogwarts students Draco recognised, and very few who weren’t Slytherins. In fact, Draco did not spot a single Ravenclaw – though maybe some of the young adults who had recently finished school had been in that House. There were a few of kids he thought he’d seen in yellow, and a scattering of Gryffindors, though the rest of their family had to otherwise be strongly vocal about Pureblood ideals for them to be welcome here.

The Macmillans were still deemed respectable, owing entirely to Herbert’s quite high ranking job in the Ministry and Paula’s legendary “Ladies’ nights” – what that entailed, Draco did not want to know – even though both their children had had rogue sortings. But Pippa had apparently made quite a name for herself while in Gryffindor, she’d had friends among the snakes, and was now following her father’s footsteps gunning for a political career. Ernest, ten years younger, was only just starting Hogwarts, but Draco supposed Hufflepuff was less controversial. Nobody expected much of Hufflepuffs.

When Draco started to wander, bored out of his mind, after greeting whoever needed to be greeted alongside his mother like a well brought-up wizard, it took him only a few minutes to realise he’d made a critical mistake in walking away from other people. He was walking through another garishly decorated room when he happened upon a group of teenagers drinking firewhisky, sprawled on the – no doubt expensive – armchairs like they owned the place.

Draco quickly attempted to walk back the other way, but sitting in the middle like a king, Flint spotted him.

“Oh, Malfoy!” He called out with a nasty grin. “Not greeting your betters? How rude.”

The rest of the boys snickered – Draco picked out two of the Quidditch players whose names he didn’t know nor cared about, and Jeremy Bullstrode, which was bad news. Due to the uncertainty of his family’s blood status, he had a reputation for wanting to prove himself to the likes of Flint.

“Good evening.” Draco said as politely as he could, even going as far as inclining his head – though he doubted he succeeded in appearing respectful – and tried to walk away again.

“ _Locomotor Mortis_.” He heard behind him.

His legs locked and he fell forward, tried to spin and landed hard on his shoulder and the side of his face.

“Leaving so soon?” Flint sneered. A moment later, he was in his line of vision, looking down at him smugly. “I don’t think so.”

Draco attempted to sit up, but Flint pushed him back down with a foot to the chest.

“Merlin, you have _got_ to learn some respect.” He spat. “Say ‘Yes sir, I will learn some respect’.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort, albeit joylessly. “Fuck off, Flint.” He said instead.

Things got a little hazy from there, but Draco could tell he was hit by a series of jinxes, and that he just needed to hold on and wait for it to be over. At one point, one of the four boys got a little overeager, and the bottom of Flint’s cloak caught fire. He put it out, but he looked furious.

“See what you’ve done!” He somehow blamed Draco, firing another slapping jinx at his chest.

If felt exactly as Draco would imagine being whipped with a belt on bare skin would feel like. He laid there, the breath knocked out of him, as Flint snarled on.

“You’re going to have to pay for this, you worthless… you worthless… bird. You owe me a new cloak.”

Draco didn’t bother pointing out this hadn’t been his fault. He knew perfectly well you didn’t reason with a bully, he’d seen enough of them, though usually not through being their victim. Beckoned by Flint, Bulstrode was suddenly all over him going through his pockets. 

He thankfully skirted around his wand, and only took out a few pieces of silver – Draco didn’t really need to have money on him, but his education had ingrained in him that it was good practice to be ready to tip staff or place a friendly bet – and a watch, one of the many watches Draco had, actually, and one he didn’t particularly care for, it just matched his outfit on this occasion – and handed the lot to Flint.

“Not nearly enough.” The captain said as he pocketed it all. “I expect you to repay the rest of your debt at school.” He bent over him. “So I’ll be seeing you, birdie.”

Great, Draco thought as the group left, leaving him on the floor with his legs still locked together. Persecution, just how I wanted my school year to turn out. Sighing to himself, he pulled out his wand and cast the counter curse, then got up on wobbly legs. Several parts of his body were aching and stinging, but he didn’t think they’d done any serious damage.

Deep down, he knew he should speak to someone about this. An adult, even. But surely he could handle a few angry Slytherins, wait it out till they were done blowing out steam. He’d give Flint some money, and he’d be done with him, the dust would settle and they’d move on. There wasn’t any cause to bother anyone else with this, he told himself. It would be fine.

* *

*

“MOOOM! Mom! Mom!”

Hal and Ley ran back towards the house, almost tripping over their own feet, and Petunia came out of the study with a look of panic.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look!” Ley shrieked, animatedly pointing at Hal. “Look what we found!”

Hal came to a stop, out of breath, and extended one arm from his chest. Wrapped around his other hand, holding on for dear life as he gently cradled it with his thumb, was a tiny silver tabby kitten, looking a little worse for wear.

Hal could tell his aunt was fruitlessly trying to remind them that the Malfoys were about to arrive to pick him up as the house descended into chaos, Ley creating a huge mess in the kitchen trying to find supplies to take care of the cat.

They’d found him underneath the slide in the playground, half frozen to death, and even though it looked pathetic, Hal had fallen in love with it as soon as he’d picked it up, and the little claws had feebly dug into the skin of his fingers. Ley had decided right alongside him that they needed to take it home and nurse it back to health.

No thanks to Ley, but rather in spite of his best efforts, they had managed to get the kitten onto a warm makeshift bed made of a baking tray and old tea towels, and Hal was feeding him some milk using the tip of his finger, when Draco and his mom Apparated in the front room. 

“Take over!” Hal told Ley, although the latter followed him as he jumped up to greet his friend.

Narcissa Malfoy was looking around her in clear disdain, but Hal knew it was a testament in itself that she had agreed to set foot in a Muggle home. Draco seemed excited, although he startled slightly when the whirlwind that were Hal and Ley together erupted in the room.

“Hi!” Hal welcomed him happily, before freezing in his tracks. “What happened to your face?”

Draco had a dark bruise on the side of his jaw, quite recent by the looks of it.

“I fell.” Draco shrugged, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t entirely untrue, but there was more to that story. Hal frowned, and resolved to ask again later.

“Hello, Mrs Malfoy.” He turned to Draco’s mother in the meantime. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you, dear.” She replied with an automated smile, looking at him kindly, though without much interest.

“Hi, I’m Ley!” Ley butted it, addressing mostly Draco.

“Draco. Hal has told me a lot about you.”

“Yeah, he said you’re not so bad yourself.” Ley grinned.

Hal’s aunt had joined them and introduced herself to Mrs Malfoy, and was offering her tea, which she politely refused.

“We should head out, really.” She argued. “I have an appointment with the tailor and I am sure the boys are eager to get to the shops.”

“Aw, I wish I could go with you.” Ley moaned, for the umpteenth time since the outing had been decided.

“Hey, you get to take care of the kitten.” Hal pointed out. He turned to inform Draco. “We found a kitten in the park.” And back to Ley. “Don’t let your mom get rid of him before I get back.”

“Sir yes sir.” Ley mocked. 

Hal rolled his eyes, and gathered round Draco’s mom as she beckoned them. She took each of their hands in hers, and Hal suddenly felt like he was ripped from the ground and into a fast spinning tumble dryer. 

Next thing he knew he was collapsing to the cobble-stoned ground feeling like he might throw up. Draco was upright, albeit also looking a bit green. Narcissa brushed non-existent dust off her robes.

“Come along.” She instructed. 

Draco helped Hal up, and they followed her through the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley shoppers until they reached Gringotts. 

“Draco, you can stay with your friend.” She said when they were in the hall. “I have business with the vault manager. You have enough money?”

The intonation barely made that a question, but Draco answered nonetheless. 

“Yes, mother.”

“Very well. I will meet you back at the club at five.”

She left them there, and Draco didn’t blink so Hal assumed it wasn’t unusual.

“The club?” He asked.

“Oh, it’s an old gentlemen club my father used to go to.” Draco explained. “Women aren’t allowed in but we always meet up in front. It’s in a quieter area so it’s easier to Disapparate.”

“Right. Okay, well.” Hal turned to the matter at hand. “Who do I speak to about my finances?”

They found the right department after some wandering about, and a thin, kind-looking wizard got them to sit down in a small office. He seemed delighted to assist _Mister Harry Potter_. He tried to tell him that those were private affairs, but Hal insisted that Draco accompany him.

“Let’s see.” The man breathed out as he pulled a large ledger. “P, Parkinson… Pince… Podmore… Potter! Main account holder, Potter, Harry James, other access to vault…” He looked up with somewhat of a wince. “None.”

“That’s alright.” Hal said wryly. “It’s not like I’d been expecting a secret cousin hidden away somewhere.”

The clerk cleared his throat, and leaned back on his account book. 

“Currently in vault, 225,884 galleons, 53,456 sickles and 64,835 knuts – all added up, that is 281,559 galleons, 16 sickles and 20 knuts.”

“Okay, that sounds like a lot.” Hal breathed. He turned to Draco slightly helplessly. “Is that a lot?” 

He was trying to times that by 5 pounds in his head, and it was _a lot_ , but he didn’t really know what the value of things was in this world, yet. 

“The average savings of an unmarried witch or wizard at 30 years old.” The banker provided. “Is considered to be around 10,000 galleons.”

Hal sagged back in his chair. “That’s a lot.” He breathed for his own confirmation.

“Additionally.” The clerk carried on with a kind smile. “This is increasing by…”

“It’s increasing?” Hal interrupted, feeling quite overwhelmed. “How?”

“Oh. Well. You see, this bank and all wizarding finances, really, are managed by Goblins. They smith the coins, and so this is the arrangement we have with them. As such, they have a certain… liberty, to distribute the wealth as they see fit. As they see fair, I should say. You may have heard for examples that Goblins consider the maker of an object their true owner, and not the person who buys it.”

Hal had heard no such thing, but he nodded like it made sense.

“They have similar opinions regarding what we would call intellectual property. And they have taken it upon themselves to reward the true owners – the makers, the inventors – of many things. Royalties, if you will. So in your case, Mister Potter, although your grandfather sold his company before retiring, the Goblins are still redirecting some of the profit to his vault. Well, yours. His heir.”

“Okay.” Hal said weakly. He had no idea what company that was, either.

“Now, I know of this example as it is both a recent and a famous one.” The man added, weirdly running a hand through his (rather thin) hair, clearly satisfied at finding it still sleek and slicked back. “However, this ledger does not have details of what exactly it is the Goblins are crediting your ancestors for, Mister Potter. Goblin memory is powerful indeed, and they are very particular about disclosing information to anyone who isn’t blood. You could ask them directly, if you wanted.”

“I think I’m alright.” Hal shook his head.

“At any rate.” Another look at the ledger. “The total income is, at present, somewhere between 300 and 400 galleons a year. This fluctuates with sales and usage of the various inventions, products or spells attributed to the Potter line. Last year, your vault balance increased by 321 galleons, 12 sickles and 5 knuts.”

Hal thanked the man for his help in a bit of a daze, and they left the bank after he’d collected some of that staggering amount of money from his vault – the sight of the piles of coins, that had left him so excited the first time, now made him feel a little sick.

“What the hell.” He told Draco once they were outside. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”

“You don’t have to act any different.” Draco offered. “Look at me. I’m cool about being rich.”

They exchanged a grin, and Hal actually felt a bit better remembering that Draco did have a lot of money, even more than he’d just found out he had, and he wasn’t a dick about it.

“Come, I’ll show you something.” Draco waved him forward.

They walked to a beauty salon, of all things, and Draco pointed at the items in the window. In the centre was a pile of tins labelled _Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion_ , and all around it were various other hair, skin and nail potions all promising to make any witch or wizard well-groomed and beautiful.

“Sleekeazy was invented by your father’s father.” Draco informed him. “It’s really popular. Made him a fortune, and he had only one child, who had only one child, so… That’s a lot of your money, right there.”

Hal stared at the inconspicuous tins for a bit, wondering what his life would have been like if his parents – or indeed his grandparents – hadn’t died, what it would have been like to be raised with all that money. Eventually he sighed; it was a pointless exercise either way.

“Thank you.” He told Draco. “For always explaining things, and not making me feel like an idiot about it. For telling me what I was never told, and everyone else seems to assume I must know already.”

Draco looked embarrassed at the compliment, and mumbled something about it being what friends do, so Hal quickly changed the subject by pulling him towards the Quidditch supply shop.

At the end of the day, they were absolutely knackered, and they treated themselves to what Hal thought was a very-well deserved sundae in the ice cream parlour. They both had several bags full of their shopping, including a brand new broomstick for Hal, and sod it, he’d gone for the latest release Nimbus 2000, because he might as well use some of that money he had too much of.

He’d also bought a nice leather pouch for his coins, a book about household magic to catch himself up on commonplace spells he thought wizard-born kids his age would know, another about wizarding history, a tin of Sleekeazy potion – because why not, if his grandfather had invented it then surely it would be good for their stubborn family hair, even though he felt a little weird thinking some of the money he paid could come back to him.

They’d split up for a bit to get Christmas presents for each other and their friends, wanting to keep it a surprise, and Hal had also grabbed some gifts for his aunt (bath bombs that made the entire bathroom look like a planetarium, and a shawl that kept you warm in cold temperatures and pleasantly cool when it was warmer) and for Ley (a selection of wizard sweets, and fireworks that created different flying or galloping animals – though he wasn’t sure how they would get around to using those).

Draco seemed satisfied with his purchases as well, and he looked happy enough that Hal decided to stop worrying about the bruise – he’d tried to pry a truthful answer out of him a few times, because he didn’t believe he’d just tripped and fallen flat on his face, he had more poise than that, but Draco wouldn’t give away anything. He didn’t seem to be afraid of going back home with his mother, at any rate, so Hal supposed it was good enough for now.

After they’d dropped him off again, Hal went straight into the kitchen to check on the cat – though his aunt sternly asked him to go put his things in his room instead of leaving them in the middle of the corridor, so he had to make a quick run back and forth. The little creature looked healthier already, and it trotted up to Hal on the table to nibble at his fingers as he tried to pet him.

“He’s been _very well_ behaved.” Ley said, looking at his mom pointedly, and Hal could guess they’d already have that conversation.

“We are not keeping it.” Petunia sighed. “We can take care of it properly.”

“It’s a him.” Ley pouted. “And we’ll name him, and he can be our cat.”

“Ley, honey, you’re at school all day, Hal is away, I’m at work… he’s too little.”

“I could take him?” It suddenly occurred to Hal. “We’re allowed pets at Hogwarts, there’s everything there to take care of them as so many students have animals. And then we’ll both be here to take care of him during the holidays.”

“Oh, pleaaase!” Ley backed him up. “That will work, won’t it?”

Even the kitten mewed approvingly, and in the end, Petunia agreed.


	8. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more bullying, sorry :( I promise there is a punch in the face in the post for Flint, but this might still be a while before he gets his due.

After probably about a hundred people had cooed at his kitten and asked him what his name was, Hal was immensely grateful he had stood up to Ley and refused to call him _Pizza_ , _Boogey_ or _David Beckham_. Hal had suggested _Genghis Cat_ and _Rockefeline_ – as a reference to the fact that he was a millionaire apparently – which had been vetoed too for being terrible puns. They had argued for days, and it was only after Christmas that they’d settled, after reading through the illustrated hardback edition of _Treasure Island_ that Ley had received as a present, on Little John Silver. 

“It’s cute.” Hermione deemed. “Suits him. He’s adorable.”

“Keep him away from Scabbers.” Ron eyed him suspiciously. “He’s lame enough without risking to die of a heart attack or something.”

“At the moment, your rat is bigger than my kitten.” Hal pointed out. “You keep _him_ away from Silver.”

“Oh my god!” Anthony squealed as he barged into the compartment, having just found them. “Did you get a cat for Christmas?”

“Uh, no.” Hal held up the kitten so Anthony could pet him. “We found him.”

“What _did you_ all get for Christmas?” Hermione asked.

They all shared stories of their Christmases, showed some of their presents – Hal had gotten a mobile phone from his aunt. She’d said she’d considered a camera like he’d mentioned, but thought this would be more useful. Ley, true to himself, had gotten him a fart spray, and less true to himself but actually quite thoughtfully, a sketchpad and some good pencils, which Hal had already put to good use. He rather loved drawing, actually.

Hermione seemed to have gotten mostly books. Ron mostly handmade items – not least among them the knitted jumper with a great big R he was wearing now. Anthony, mostly things related to riddles and adventure. Draco, mostly really pragmatic, practical objects. Neville, mostly confidence-boosting gifts. Hal thought it was quite a good insight into all of his friend’s lives at home, and their relationships with their families.

Once at Hogwarts, they gathered in the Gryffindor common room, feeling it would be less intrusive to have two Ravenclaws here than four Gryffindors there, to exchange the gifts they had bought for each other.

“How do we do this?” Anthony asked, a pile of haphazardly wrapped parcels in his arms. “By receiver, by giver, or total chaos?”

Things did get a little chaotic as they handed out their respective piles, but in the end each of them had their presents and they decided to take turns opening them all.

Neville started. He received knitted socks from Ron (who swore he wasn’t repurposing), a succulent in a little clay pot from Hermione (as Herbology was his favourite class), what looked like a hamster ball from Anthony (apparently it was for his toad), potion cheat sheets from Draco (as Potions was his least favourite class) and Toblerone from Hal (because wizards may have cool sweets, they didn’t have Toblerone).

Hermione, next, got Sugar Quills from Ron, a notebook that automatically reorganised your notes from Anthony, magical bath bombs from Hal (one that was like lying in a meadow surrounded by flowers and birdsong, and another that played classical music), a collection of hair ties and clips from Neville and _Matilda - The True Story_ from Draco, which had an introduction explaining Roald Dahl’s character had been, unbeknownst to the author himself, inspired by a young witch who lived next door when he was a child, and proceeded to tell her (allegedly true) story.

Anthony got all excited and decided it was his turn, and opened a card deck with pictures of famous magical sites from Neville, a pillowcase decorated in blue, bronze and ravens from Draco, a book of riddles from Hermione (Muggle ones, which Anthony delightedly thought were as hard as they were hilarious), a miniature figure of a troll who roared and waved his arms from Hal (which caused some delay as Anthony laughed so hard he cried) and homemade Rocky Road bars from Ron, magically preserved to last for months.

Ron laughed as he got not one, but two portable wizard chess sets, one from Anthony and one from Hal, though the latter was made of chocolate. Hermione got him _British History for Dummies_ (and then had to explain it was a series of books, and nothing personal), Neville a box of cauldron cakes and Draco a family tree in a cool typeset showing how they were related, to Ron’s great horror (third cousins, once removed).

Draco opened his from largest to smallest: a large box of tea bags containing different sorts from Neville, paperback copies of the three _Lord of the Rings_ books from Hal, a scarf from Ron (he maintained that his mom had taught him how to magic-knit, and had not done those things herself), a reading light to clip on the top of books (complete with spare batteries) from Hermione and a soft leather sheath for his pocket watch from Anthony. 

Hal went last has he had been thoroughly distracted by Little John Silver playing with all the wrapping paper, but he was delighted to find a wand holster to attach to his belt from Anthony, a book of Quidditch rules and moves from Ron, a transportable cat bed from Draco that was about the size of a mango once folded up, a tin of Sleekeazy Hair Potion from Neville (Hal had to laugh at that one) and a copy of Shakespeare’s _Henry IV_ (both parts) from Hermione.

With an apologetic sigh, Ron also announced his mom had insisted to knit them each a sweater, and they found themselves laughing till their stomachs hurt once they’d all put them on and were proudly displaying their respective initial – Hal and Hermione had debated which was meant to be whose, and Ron hadn’t known, or cared, and in the end it didn’t really matter as they were all the same size, and neither of them was an offending pink or anything like that.

They had to say goodbye to Anthony and Draco so they wouldn’t get in trouble going back to their common room too late, and then to Hermione as she headed to the girls’ dormitory. Up in the boys’, Hal spotted one more present at the foot of his bed. When all the other boys had denied it was from any of them, he opened it looking for a note. There was one.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. Use it well._

He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, and unfolded the bundle of cloth he found in the paper. It was a cloak, the thick, soft fabric shimmering in the candlelight of the dorm. Clearly an adult size, he could probably throw it over his whole head and still have it pool up on the floor, but he wrapped it around his shoulders regardless to try it on.

“AH!” Seamus screamed a second later, just as the room filled with several other cries and gasps. “Feck, bloody hell, mate, why would you do that? Scared the shite outa me, you did!”

Confused, Hal looked down at himself, only to find out he… wasn’t there. He could distinctly see the floor, and his discarded shoes, right through where his legs should have been. 

“I’m invisible.” He said dumbly.

“Except for your stupid floating head.” Seamus ranted some more, throwing a pillow at him. 

Hal took the cloak off, and Dean proceeded to take the piss out of Seamus, as Neville and Ron came to take a closer look, both looking flabbergasted. 

“It’s a good one.” Ron ran his hands over it, impressed. “An invisibility cloak, mate. They’re really rare.”

Neville had picked up and read the note, and gave Hal a look that seemed to ask how he felt about that. Hal shrugged, a little helplessly. He hadn’t figured that out yet. Oblivious to their silent exchange, Ron was watching his hand disappear inside and out of the folds of the cloak with absolute fascination. Silver started playing with the hem, and Hal picked him up so he wouldn’t rip it to shreds.

“No, Sil.” He whispered to the kitten. “Want to try your new bed, buddy?”

“Seriously.” Ron sighed. “You get an invisibility cloak, and you’re more interested in your cat.”

“The cat is alive.” Hal pointed out. “The cloak will be fine if I don’t feed and pet it.” 

He dropped the cloak in question in his trunk, and upon seeing Ron’s face, he added with a laugh. 

“We’ll try it tomorrow, alright?”

* *

*

The way Ron and Draco were looking at him, Hal felt like they were asking him to pick a best friend, right now, for life, no take-backs, and the one who wasn’t chosen would be mortally offended and never speak to him again. There was only one way out of this.

“Hermione can go first.” He decided.

They spent the next two hours of their Sunday afternoon trying out the cloak in turn, and reached the conclusion it really worked, because nobody had been able to see them or even suspect they were there in their trips across the courtyard – apart from when Anthony collided with a group of Hufflepuff and Hal and Neville had to quickly create a diversion, in order to keep the cloak a secret. Draco had suggested that they did – he thought it was too good an asset to let the entire school know he had it.

Back in the dorm in the evening, Hal tried out his phone to call his aunt, and told her about the presents from his friends and all the fun he’d had today, but he decided not to mention the cloak either. He knew she would probably only see it as an opportunity for mischief – which, let’s be honest, it really was. He spoke to Ley too, and he did tell him about it, after making him swear to secrecy.

“Your dad had cool shit.” Ley commented. “Beats the Smeltings memorabilia my dad left me.”

“Who doesn’t want their dad’s old blazer, cane and Head Boy badge.” Hal teased.

“Alright, Mister _I’m a great wizard now_ , keep your smug and go be invisible somewhere else.”

“That made no sense.” Hal laughed.

They talked for almost hour, about one stupid thing after another, until Dean asked if he was going to go to bed anytime soon because some people were trying to sleep. Hal complied, but he could not get to sleep. He tried, he did, but he still felt too excited from the afternoon fooling around and from his chat with Ley, so in the end he gave up. He picked up his glasses, pulled on some socks, grabbed the cloak, and went for a wander. He had a few theories he wanted to test.

He’d already asserted that cats did not see through the cloak, though Little John Silver seemed to know where the person wearing it was, probably through smell or a sense of their warmth. Walking around the castle at night, Hal was able to confirm that paintings couldn’t see him, nor ghosts (and discovered on the same occasion that at night, Professor Binns apparently taught History to other ghosts – several of which kept interrupting that they had been there, and it wasn’t at all how it had happened).

He almost got caught – he heard whispered voices, and in trying to scamper, came right in the path of Snape and Quirrell, clearly in the middle of an argument. He was only able to narrowly escape by slipping into an empty classroom, and waited with bated breath for the two men’s footsteps to move away. Only when he had been quite sure of the complete silence for a few minutes did he release a relieved sigh, and look around.

The classroom was disused and dusty, most desks pushed against the walls, and at the far end was a tall frame. As Hal got closer, removing the cloak and bundling up in his arms as we walked up to it, he realised it was a mirror. He’d thought it was a painting, because he could see several figures in it, but he could now definitely recognise his own reflection, moving as he did.

Reverse vampires? He thought, looking behind him nervously, for any hint of creatures that were invisible, but had a reflection in mirrors, rather than the other way round. Not that he knew if that particular cliché was true (because yes, apparently, vampires did exist). He shook his head to ward off the silly thoughts. It didn’t really matter right now.

He came to stand right in front of the frame, and with a jolt that ran right through his bones, he suddenly recognised the two figures standing closest to him in the mirror. His mom and dad. They looked so real he turned around again, but the room behind him was empty. 

As he looked back to the mirror, and managed to drag his eyes away from the couple for a moment, he saw there were more figures – behind his dad, an older couple both bearing a resemblance to him, Hal’s grandparents no doubt, and behind them, more wizards and witches. Cousins, friends, a whole world oh people who could have taught him so much about his heritage.

On the other side, his mom seemed to be laughing with her sister, and Hal’s breath was taken away at how beautiful she was, how beautiful they both were. Petunia looked younger, carefree, her blond hair a halo around her head, and Hal’s other grandparents were standing in the background too, looking proud and kind. Vernon was conspicuously absent

Right to Hal’s left was Ley, grinning and waving for their friends in the distance (past and present) to join them, and on his right, the vision like a punch in the gut, was a little girl of seven or eight, holding Little John Silver. She looked exactly like Lily, except her curls were as black as all the other Potters. A sister. 

The figures in the mirror weren’t static, and the fascination he felt looking at them didn’t fade. The cousins on his dad’s side seemed to be trying to push each other out of the way to get a better look at him. Every now and again, his mom would ruffle his hair, and his dad would nudge his shoulder. He almost thought he could feel it, but he knew it was wishful thinking. Ley and his little sister – he started thinking of her as Violet, because it would have made sense for her to get a flower’s name – were playing with the kitten around Hal, who’d eventually sat down.

Hal didn’t know how long he stayed there, but it certainly was several hours later, when his butt was too sore, and he felt too cold and stiff, that he finally got up and walked semi-automatically back to his dorm. As he slipped into bed, the only thing that prevented him from breaking into tears out of sheer loneliness, was Silver’s soft little paws as he walked on him to finally settle warmly in the crook of his neck.

* *

*

Draco had been doing his best to avoid groups of Slytherins around the school, whether these contained Flint and his mates or not, in the faint hope they would forget about him if they couldn’t see him. Unfortunately, they obviously didn’t, and rather seemed to be seeking him out. 

When they managed to corner him between two classes, Draco thought at least he’d been carrying money on him, so maybe this would be the end of it. He gave Flint the galleons, and made his escape. And tripped over a leg one of them stuck out.

They guffawed like the idiots they were as he met the ground, thankfully this time able to use his arms to cushion the fall – though his elbow did not thank him for it. He tuned out to the slurs and insults that followed and he got to his feet, hating how small he felt surrounded by the older students. 

At least this time they didn’t seem interested in throwing the contents of his bag onto the floor to trample it, which Draco was grateful for, because he has _The Two Towers_ in there – he’d read the first one almost in one sitting, he was bloodying loving it – and he’d have been very upset to see the book damaged.

“You know, Malfoy, I read some interesting things about you.” Flint said. “My mother sent me this article about eligible bachelors, and you are in the list of good matches to watch out for in the next few years – they had to include the babies like you since they’re all in a tizzy about precious Potter starting school.”

Draco just couldn’t hold his tongue at hearing that, and gave Flint his best sneer. “So you read Witch Weekly? How progressive of you.”

Flint shoved him and he slammed against the wall – another bruise for the road.

“Don’t interrupt me, birdie. What was interesting, is the reason why you’re in there. So your family is one of the richest in Britain, hey?”

In for a knut, Draco thought, in for a galleon. He raised his eyebrows contemptuously. 

“Is that news to you?”

“What’s news is that maybe it’s time to share the wealth, don’t you think?”

“I’ve already paid for the damage to your robe.” Draco defended.

“Yeah, and I say you gotta pay some more. What are you going to do about it, you worthless _wimp_?” With the emphasis on the last word, he gave him another shove. “Are you going to go crying to your godfather like the cry-baby you are?”

Now Draco understood why they had never made him the target of public humiliation – word that he was Snape’s godson had clearly gotten out, and apparently even Flint wasn’t stupid enough to risk this getting back to him. He was clearly counting on the fact that nobody likes a snitch, and that Draco wouldn’t say anything to anyone. Ruefully, Draco had to admit he was probably right. He didn’t see himself going to Sev with this, it seemed entirely petty. He could handle it.

“We can make this much worse for you.” Flint carried on and threatened. “What’s a little money to you? You wouldn’t want us to find your friends in our way, would you?”

Draco gritted his teeth. That hit a spot, and Flint knew it.

“Thought so.” He sneered. “Say ‘You’re right, sir’.”

Draco scoffed, but Flint balled and raised his fist, and Draco figure he might as well prevent that from landing in his face.

“You’re right, sir.” He repeated forcibly.

“Why am I right?” Flint pushed. 

“I’ll give you some money, alright?” Draco spat out. “Can I go to class now?”

Flint bared his (truly disgraceful) teeth, and actually stepped out of the way.

“See you around, little bird.”

Draco forced himself to walk – he wouldn’t give them the pleasure of seeing him run away like a scared child. Which he was, he thought bitterly to himself. He didn’t see how he could stand up to Flint without making things worse for himself, and potentially his friends. 

He was withdrawn and quiet – and sore – for the rest of the day, and while nobody didn’t say anything, he could tell Hal noticed. He was always the one who noticed. His own mother hadn’t spotted the bruise on his face over Christmas. Draco shook his head slightly as he gave him a calculating look, so he didn’t ask, but Draco would have to watch out. He was more observant than the rest.

Although even Anthony, scatter-brained as he could be, couldn’t miss the bruises as he walked in on Draco getting ready for bed in their room that night.

“Mighty Morgana.” He swore. “What the fuck, Draco?”

Draco quickly pulled a shirt over his exposed back – where, he’d checked, the fading yellowish bruise on his shoulder had been joined by an elbow that was quite blue, and two matching bruises in the middle of his back where he’d hit the wall.

“I bruise easily.” He deflected – which was true.

“That does _not_ explain these.” Anthony countered. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Draco.” The other boy insisted sternly.

“It doesn’t matter.” Draco sighed. “I got pushed over a little in the corridor, alright?”

“Who?” 

For a second, Draco almost wanted to cry at the fierce frown on his friend’s face. Nobody had ever felt vindicated on his behalf.

“It doesn’t matter.” He repeated. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Yeah, it clearly looks like it. Because, don’t think I’d not spotted the one on your jaw too. Harry said you told him you fell, but-”

“You asked Hal?” Draco interrupted, feeling weird at the thought his friends might be discussing him behind his back.

“Well, not really.” Anthony conceded. “He saw me about to open my gob about it and he said _Don’t ask, he said he fell_. We know it’s not true, mate. I told Hal maybe we should wait for you to be ready to tell us, but if this is getting worse…”

“It’s not getting worse.” Draco asserted. 

It wasn’t really a lie, was it? It wasn’t _worse_ than it had been the first time. Definitely not as bad as during the party. Anthony opened his mouth again, but Draco stopped him before he could speak.

“Leave it, alright?” He implored. “And don’t tell Hal and the others, please? It’s not a big deal.”

Anthony looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he shook his head. 

“Alright.” He sighed. “If you say so. I’m not going to force you to talk about it. But if this happens again, I’m not going to ignore it, okay? I don’t want you to think you’re alone in this, whatever _this_ is.”

Draco nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Strangely, it reinforced his decision to not tell anyone about Flint’s behaviour. Flint had threatened his friends. His friends were amazing, as Anthony had just demonstrated. He would protect them from this.


	9. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Work has been ridiculous this week. I'll try to post another chapter tomorrow, then it might be another week (I use what little spare time I have to carry on writing, I don't want to finish posting this without having at least a few chapters of Book 2 in the wings!) 
> 
> That one is a bit of a filler. I decided halfway through that I was going to split my chapters by month, and nothing was happening in February...

In hindsight, Hal would say it had been worth it, because he loved snowball fights in the first place, but _enchanted_ snowball fights raised the level of fun to epic heights. At the moment, however, feeling like death warmed up from the bottom of his bed, he regretted his life choices. He had survived one day after the battles of the weekend feeling increasingly fuzzy, and it seemed to have crystallised overnight.

Ron and Neville had tried to get him out bed earlier, and he had eventually followed them out even though his vision felt blurry and his throat hurt like hell when he swallowed, only to be told he looked like shit by Anthony, fretted over by Hermione and sent to the hospital wing by an unsympathetic Professor McGonagall after two minutes of class. 

The matron had complained about _another one_ and had plonked him in a bed telling him he’d have to wait because she was all out of Pepper-Up potion. Hal thought whatever that was didn’t sound very serious, but he assumed it would sort him out quicker than paracetamol when he finally got it, because all the care he received in the meantime was a glass of water and a stern command to stay under the covers.

Hal had his phone in his bag and for a minute he thought of calling his aunt, but it was Tuesday morning, she would be in work. Besides, he didn’t really want her to hear him in this state – she would fret. She had always fretted whenever Ley or Hal had been sick in the past, worrying too much in their opinion, until they had understood that both their grandparents had died of flu, and it was harmless to let her fret if it made her feel better.

He half wished he’d brought Little Sil, but he doubted cats would be welcome in the infirmary – let alone playful kittens. He’d be fine in the dorm. There was plenty to explore (Dean had learnt to close his trunk) and though Hal had tried to do it himself because he’d promised his aunt he’d be responsible, the castle fed him too. House elves, Draco had corrected him. Hal thought it was the same as the castle. In a corner of his feverish brain, he briefly wondered if cats could catch a cold.

He fell asleep without even realising he was drifting off. He was floating on a cloud, which was very comfortable. The cloud turned into a ship flying in the sky. Then the ship was on the ocean, but there was a tempest raging. It was less comfortable. Lighting struck – and it was as if it had struck Hal and pierced right through his head, blinding him with pain.

He sat up in bed screaming, holding his head with both hands, genuinely terrified for a few seconds while his brain shook off the nightmare, that it was going to split open. Madam Pomfrey came rushing in, and sagged in relief when she could see there wasn’t actually any blood, boils or broken bones visible. She put a hand on Hal’s forehead.

“You have a fever.” She sighed. “I have potions brewing right now, but in the meantime, you need water, and rest. _Aguamenti._ ” She waved her wand and the pitcher on his bedside table refilled with fresh water.

“I don’t really want-” Hal tried, but was interrupted by a cough that shook his entire body. “I don’t really want to sleep.” He managed, sounding like he’s swallowed gravel. It felt like it too.

She gave him a long, calculating look, and Hal realised he still had one hand holding his head – covering his scar, where the pain had lingered. He dropped it hastily, but the damage was already done.

“Has that scar been bothering you, Mister Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asked insightfully. 

“No?” Hal attempted to lie in a small voice, but the matron’s piercing look made him babble on. “I mean, it hurt a few times before. Since I’ve been here, mostly, never really back home. Hum. In Defence class, mostly. I think. In the Great Hall a few times. I don’t know.”

His whole head felt heavy, and it didn’t really seem relevant right now. Pomfrey seemed to reach the same conclusion, or at least to take pity on him, and only mumbled something to herself about talking to Dumbledore (at least Hal thought he caught the word _headmaster_ ) as she waved her wand again, over him this time. He felt the pressure beneath his temples ease up a little. Not much, but it was something.

“I can’t do much else for the pain.” She told him. “I will give you a potion as soon as they are ready. Rest.”

“Yes ma’am.” Hal breathed out, not really seeing the point in arguing.

He fought against sleep for a little bit, reluctant to fall back into a bad dream or feverish delirium, but he didn’t have enough energy to keep that up, and before long, he was dropping off again.

He didn’t sleep for long, startled awake by a door banging loudly somewhere nearby maybe twenty minutes later. He’d dreamt of his family – his parents, both alive, his little sister just like he’d seen her in the mirror, except at one point she became his big sister, and then he realised she looked exactly like McGonagall and they found out she was their long-lost aunt. And then Draco was there, for no reason, telling him he should go to the shops.

“Hal?”

Hal blinked at Draco, standing at his bedside, and briefly wondered confusedly where the rest of his family had gone. 

“I don’t want to go to the shops.” He blurted out.

“Sorry?” Draco frowned worriedly.

Hal blinked again, coughed – it hurt like hell – and sat up with some difficulty.

“Sorry.” He rasped. “I was dreaming.”

“Bad dream?” Draco asked.

“No, it was nice.” Hal mused. “Until it got ridiculous. You were there.”

Draco looked surprised for a second, before a small smile danced on his lips.

“Was I telling you to go to the shops?”

Hal laughed – it hurt like hell too. “You’re smart.” He complimented his friend.

“I try.” Draco chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty shit.” Hal admitted.

“Yeah, there are a few other kids in there who don’t look great.” Draco gestured vaguely to the rest of the infirmary behind him. “I’ve heard a fourth year say it’s like this every year. It starts spreading round and Pomfrey runs out of potions quicker than she can replace them. Sev’s been making his Advanced classes brew medicinal draughts, though, so you should be sorted soon.”

There was a silence, and Draco whispered his name carefully, and Hal realised he’d lied back down and closed his eyes. Draco’s voice was soothing, and while the words weren’t altogether reaching his brain, the elegant accent was nice to listen to.

“I’ll leave you to rest.” The elegant accent said.

“Don’t.” Hal mumbled, struggling to open his eyes again. “Stay a bit. M’bored.”

“You’re half asleep.” Draco laughed in return. But he sat down with a smile. “Fine. I only have one free period, though. Anthony says he hopes you don’t die, by the way. He had to go to the library to finish an essay. Gryffindors are in Charms, I think Hermione will take notes for you.”

“Draco?” Hal didn’t mean to interrupt him, but visions from his dream still danced behind his closed eyelids – damn, he’d closed his eyes again – and it seemed like he had to ask.

“Hm?”

“How come you don’t have siblings?”

Draco remained silent for long enough – at least it seemed long to Hal’s fuzzy brain – that he had to open his eyes again to check his friend was still there. He was, frowning slightly.

“My father died when I was six.” He reminded him.

“I know.” Hal said. “But before.”

Draco’s lips were pursed in a thin line, and Hal regretted asking, but before he could tell him to forget about it, Draco shrugged.

“Because I’m a boy, I suppose. A male heir. I’ll carry out the Malfoy name.”

“Basket.” Hal said.

He meant to say that it was rather risky putting all your eggs in one basket, and what if something happened to the one and only heir, or he didn’t want children to continue the line? But he could only manage so much.

Thankfully, that resulted in Draco snorting, then trying to pretend that he hadn’t made such an undignified noise, but still looking amused. Which was better than the frown and pout, as far as Hal was concerned. He hadn’t meant to upset him with his indelicate questions.

“Must be lonely.” He let out.

Amusement turned to thoughtfulness again. “Yeah.” Draco murmured. “It is.”

“I’ll be your brother.” Hal said into his pillow.

“Okay.” He thought he heard, before he was asleep again.

* *

*

When Hal woke up next, his throat and chest were tight and painful, but his head felt lighter. He had to blink blearily and confusedly a few times for things to come into focus when he opened his eyes, even after readjusting his glasses that had slipped off his nose, because he didn’t see why the headmaster would be sat by his bedside, but there he was.

“Hello, Harry.” The old man smiled, eyes crinkling, as Hal tried to sit up straighter.

“Hello.” He answered – or, tried to. He’d apparently almost lost his voice to this cold, now.

“I thought I’d come and visit you when I heard you were ill.”

So are about eight other kids in this room right now, Hal thought. Why me?

“Thanks?” He said hesitantly. It came out as a whisper.

“We haven’t really had time to talk.” Dumbledore went on. “How are you finding Hogwarts, Harry?”

“It’s good. I love it.” He said honestly.

“It must have been quite overwhelming, at first.”

Hal shrugged. “I got used to it quick.”

“Yes, it seems you have.” A mysterious smile, again, like he knew something Hal didn’t. Which, let’s face it, was probably a whole lot of things. 

The old man considered him for a moment, and he was really starting to make him nervous when he finally spoke again.

“I was interested to notice you were friends with Mister Malfoy.” He mused. “It could be a very good influence on him.”

Hal felt himself bristle. “I don’t think Draco needs me to be a good influence on him.” He snapped, his voice cracking and painful, but it needed to be said. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Seeing the headmaster’s raised brow – though he almost looked amused – Hal cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed by his outburst.

“With all due respect. Sir.” He added, more subdued.

“I can see that he is lucky to have found devoted friends.” Dumbledore smiled.

Hal shrugged. “I think we found each other. I’m as lucky as he is.”

“You are not what I expected, Harry Potter.”

Hal frowned at that. You and everyone else, he almost said. He still wasn’t getting used to people having expectations about him in the first place, and he still didn’t like it. But his frown turned to a small grin as he decided to take it well.

“Better or worse?” He asked, tongue-in-cheek.

The old man smiled, and if he had been a lot younger, and maybe American, Hal felt sure he would have tapped his nose.

“Get well soon, Mister Potter.” He said instead – probably starting to see there wasn’t an opportunity for a long, insightful conversation here with Hal in this state. “I look forward to talking to you again soon.”

“Me too.” Hal answered reflexively.

As the Headmaster got up and left, he realised it wasn’t true. It had been extremely awkward, and he’d be happier if he never had a one-to-one with Albus Dumbledore in such fashion ever again. Surely he had better things to do than chat to first-years? From all other evidence, he did. As far as Hal knew, he didn’t go around visiting students in the care of Madam Pomfrey this randomly. Hal always felt a little resentful that this was not standard treatment, but rather a ‘privilege’ reserved for Harry Potter, Defeater of Dark Wizards. Couldn’t people just get over that?

* *

*

“How’s Hal?” Hermione asked Draco as she took a seat at the Ravenclaw table for lunch, completely ignoring the way Mandy was glaring at her like she wanted her to drop dead, and starting to help herself to food.

It wasn’t uncommon for students to have their meals at other House’s tables, inter-house friendships were even encouraged, but Hermione had a few self-proclaimed ‘enemies’ among the Ravenclaw girls. She came top of the class in all the classes they shared. It was Ravenclaw’s prerogative to come top of the class, therefore, how dare she. It wasn’t that they resented her for being clever. They resented the Hat for having put that clever in Gryffindor. But they couldn’t glare over lunch at the Hat. They weren’t vocal about it, but every attempt they made at besting her, that Hermione inevitably thwarted (probably without even trying or realising they were competing), wounded their ego a little.

“He was pretty out of it.” Draco said with a smile, recalling how fuzzy Hal had been. It had been endearing, really. “But he’ll be alright, nothing a potion can’t fix, once it’s brewed.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Bad timing, I guess.”

“Anytime between November and March is bad timing.” Anthony piped up. “Everyone gets sick when it’s cold.” He paused thoughtfully. “Except Edmund. He gets stronger instead.”

Draco and Hermione both frowned at him, because, who was Edmund? But they decided not to ask. It was often better not to ask, with Anthony.

“Are you okay, Draco?” Hermione asked him a bit later. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well, to be honest.” Draco sighed. 

He had received a letter from his mother, which he’d read the previous night before bed. It wasn’t a long one, but there had been so many untold things in there, reading between the lines, and he’d realised he’d forgotten the anniversary of his father’s death. His mother always fell into a state of deep melancholy around the date, and usually Draco did his best to cheer her up or distract her, but this year he wasn’t there. Not only that, but he’d gone and forgotten, not even sending her an owl to support her. The guilt had made him toss and turn for hours before he could find sleep.

He waved his hand at Hermione’s concerned face.

“It’s nothing. Just a bit restless. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

Hermione seemed satisfied by that, but Draco noticed Anthony was now looking at him sharply. And sure enough, when they left the table to head out to their respective classes, he grabbed his arm to pull him to the side.

“I’m fine.” Draco pre-empted before any question came. “I just didn’t sleep well, it’s got nothing to do with… I’m fine.”

Anthony had a serious look on his face. “You promise?” He asked rather solemnly.

“I promise.”

It took another minute of Anthony’s piercing gaze before he nodded.

“Okay.” He assessed. Then he clapped his hands, all cheer recovered. “Alright, Transfig!”

Draco was startled into a laugh, rolled his eyes, and followed him, resolving to write to his mother. He hoped telling her about his amazing friends would make her feel better seeing he was as happy as he could be.


	10. March

Hal’s first Quidditch game had come around much quicker than he’d realised. The rest of the winter had flown by in snowball fights and heaps of homework, once Hal had recovered from his cold (which had been very fast once he could get a potion), in laughter and petty squabbles similarly cementing the friendships within their little group.

Hal had gone back to the mirror only once, to draw it. He didn’t want to let himself get stuck staring into the friendly faces of the family that would have been – he knew it wasn’t real. Getting wistful about seeing his mom and dad seemed ungrateful to the woman who had raised him like a son. Laughing at Violet’s stubborn pout felt like distancing himself from the boy who was in every way like his brother. And while he knew the Weasley and Longbottom families had been close to the Potters, would he have been friends with Hermione, Draco, Anthony, had he not been orphaned?

So in the end, he’d spent the entire night covering page after page with drawings of this parallel reality, unwilling to lose it, but just as unwilling to get sucked in, and he’d let it go, trying to forget about the mirror altogether. He’d not told anyone about it, even when they asked about the bags under his eyes.

Hal was glad they were playing the Hufflepuff, so he could focus on the game without having to worry about hurting Anthony’s and Draco’s feelings. Training had been tough for the past few weeks – while the days were getting longer and the grounds were starting to show signs of spring, it was still bitterly cold.

The excitement and wonder of being new to the team had faded – both for Hal and the rest of them. It had boosted their morale for sure, especially when Hal had returned with his Nimbus 2000 after Christmas.

“You’re already fast.” Oliver had said in a rare moment of unworried glee. “But on this as well, the other Seekers don’t stand a chance!”

Now, they seemed to be less enthused by having a fast new seeker, and more concerned about the fact he was younger, smaller and more inexperienced than any other player, and it was starting to rub off on Hal’s confidence.

“You’ll be fine.” Ron told him the night before the game, stopping for a moment in the way he was stuffing his face with all the birthday sweets and cakes he’d received like it was a competition.

Hal shrugged it off, because everyone was telling him so, but it was empty words as far as he was concerned. Ron, however, didn’t leave him be. He planted himself in front of him and grabbed both his shoulders.

“You, will, be, fine.” He insisted. “Harry, I may have just started school here, but I know the Gryffindor team inside and out, alright? Charlie was Seeker before you, he was Captain for the past two years, Fred and George are Beaters for the second year now, this is literally _all_ we talk about at home. And let me tell you, the team has never been so strong. And _you_ , mate, are bloody good. You could be as good as Krum.”

Krum was a Seeker Ron absolutely worshipped. At sixteen years old, he was only just starting his professional career, but every press release in the world seemed to agree that he showed more promise than any Quidditch player had in a long time, and could become bigger than Wronski himself. 

In short, it was the best compliment Ron could possibly pay him – and it actually did make him feel better. Ron was right, he knew his Quidditch. If anyone could make a fair assessment of Hal’s potential and skill, it was him. He was also the first person _not_ to resort to the fact James Potter had been a Quidditch player in his time at school to try and convince Hal of his own talent.

Thanks to Ron, Hal went into the game feeling rather confident, and the match started great – the weather was fair, the team was pumped up, the crowd going mad for Hal whizzing about on his fancy broomstick. Within fifteen minutes, Gryffindor was already in the lead by three goals.

Then, little by little, things started going wrong – at least they did for Hal.

It started with a sharp pain in his head, right behind his scar, like he hadn’t felt in weeks. This time around, it almost felt like it came with a feeling, clashing with the good-humoured cheers and cries of encouragement he could still hear around him. Something like hatred.

Distracted by the pain, he missed the first jerk of his broomstick. With the second, he thought he’d momentarily lost control while he was clutching at his head. The third one, however, was unmistakable, like someone had grabbed the tip of Hal’s broom and shaken it. As Hal was sharply pulled in one direction and then the opposite, he knew clearly it was nothing he was doing.

His scar was still hurting, but it was almost secondary at this point, as Hal used both hands to hold the shaft of his broomstick in a death grip and tried to will some control back into it. He seemed to work to some extent, at least insofar as it allowed him to not be flung through the air, a bit like riding a mechanical bull as it started going faster, and faster. Hal had done it a few times, at the summer fair near their house in Surrey. He’d been quite good at it. He’d also not been 60 feet above ground.

After a couple of minutes of this, the other players, Lee Jordan who was commentating, and the audience started noticing. Hal could hear Fred and George shout something at him, though he couldn’t make out the words. The commentary changed tone too, and cheers turned to screams when a particularly violent shake had Hal slip halfway to the tip of his broomstick, dangerously close to falling off.

Funnily enough, as he was righting himself, he saw the Snitch hovering lazily a little distance away from him, heading for the Hufflepuff rings. He couldn’t go after it, what with the whole ‘fighting with his equipment to potentially stay alive’ thing, but he didn’t think the other Seeker had spotted it either.

From the corner of his eye, when his vision wasn’t blurred but another shake of the rogue broomstick, he could see some commotion in the stands, and in the back of his mind, thought there was something reassuring in being surrounded but witches and wizards. At least if he fell, surely someone would know a spell to ensure he didn’t crash and die.

He was almost thinking it might be a risk worth taking to just let go, but then it stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he had full control back. With an instinct and single-mindedness he wasn’t sure where he was drawing from, he didn’t even take a second to catch his breath, and instead sliced right through the air going straight for the Snitch. 

As he extended his hand to catch it, he saw with a shock that his palm was bleeding, little beads of red across an angry friction burn from holding the wood so tightly. And he missed the Snitch, which… hit him in the face. Somehow one of the golden wings was in his mouth and he was sputtering but he’d clamped his teeth around it at the same time, and the whistle was blown for the end of the game.

He flew down to the ground in a bit of a haze, legs shaking, hands burning and head throbbing, and he was immediately surrounded by his teammates, half cheering and congratulating him, half worriedly checking and asking if he was okay.

“What the hell was that?” Oliver all but shrieked.

“Who cares, we won!” Fred (maybe George) clasped Hal’s shoulder. “The unshakeable little bugger caught the Snitch!”

“Tried to snog it, more like.” George (maybe Fred) added, clasping his other shoulder. “Nice rodeo up there, buddy.”

“Thanks.” Hal managed to say, still unable to quite make sense of what had just happened. 

He was eying his broomstick with some suspicion, but it was perfectly still and harmless now. He would have it checked, of course, but he’d read enough about Quidditch and broomsticks in the past few months to know that these rarely malfunctioned, and when they did, they tended to overheat and explode rather than try to throw their riders off. 

That sounded a lot more like a curse. So the real question here seemed to be: was someone trying to sabotage, injure or even kill him?

Hermione had an answer to that, which she provided as they were walking back to the castle, in hushed voices only loud enough so all six of them huddled up together could hear.

“It was definitely a curse, designed to throw you off the broom. At first I thought maybe the Slytherins, but that seemed a bit advanced for a student, even the older ones – I couldn’t see who would go this far apart from Flint, and he’s not the sharpest knife in the kitchen.”

Hal thought he saw Draco flinch as she spoke, but he didn’t have time to look closely as she barrelled on.

“So I looked at the teachers’ stand, and several of them were talking so it was hard to tell if it was just conversation or cursing, but I am pretty sure I saw Professor Quirrell and Professor Snape looking straight at you.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Anthony stepped in. “A professor? Why would a professor want to harm Harry?”

“Sev wouldn’t do that.” Draco defended. 

“I didn’t think so either.” Hermione nodded. “So… Quirrell.” She gave Hal a pointed look. “Your scar hurt before in his class, several times. And I saw you clutching your head up there.”

“Why would Quirrell want to harm Harry?” Anthony repeated pointedly.

“I don’t know.” Hermione sighed in frustration. “But they all say he’s been weird.”

“By which you mean Fred and George.” Ron commented. “Who are hardly reliable sources.”

“No, not just them!” Hermione insisted. “I have heard several older students saying he was very different when he taught Muggle Studies.”

“I’ve heard that too.” Neville backed her up. “But from there to say that he was trying to throw Hal off his broom, isn’t it a bit of a stretch?”

“Or that my scar is acting like a sensor for people who don’t like me.” Hal added humourlessly. “Also a bit of a stretch.”

“Look, I don’t know.” Hermione huffed. “I’m just telling you what I observed, and _regardless_ of my theory, I think you should go speak to the headmaster.”

“Wow.” Hal held up his hands. “How did we get there?”

“It doesn’t matter who or why, someone was messing with that broomstick, Harry.” She said sternly. “This is serious enough. And you should not be ignoring pain in your, may I remind you, _unique and unprecedented_ magical scar, either.”

She crossed her arms. She actually crossed her arms, and Hal wanted to roll his eyes, but he burst out laughing instead. 

“God, you’re such a mom. Alright, okay, I’ll go. Can I shower and change first?”

* *

*

Hal hadn’t planned to tell his aunt about the potential curse, but his talk with Dumbledore had left him feeling confused and insecure – the man was just plain weird and cryptic, if you asked him – and in the end everything spilled out of him when he was on the phone to her.

“But what did the Headmaster say?” She asked again.

“Nothing, I told you.” Hal sighed. “Nothing helpful anyway. He told me I shouldn’t worry about Professor Quirrell, but I don’t know if he meant he didn’t think he’d done anything, or if he was keeping an eye on him.”

“Hal, if one of the teachers is harming students…”

“Things don’t work the same way here.” Hal told her. “I mean, there is a dangerous forbidden forest _right there_ , we brew potions and practice spells that can explode… I don’t think Health and Safety regulations mean anything at all. I suppose it doesn’t matter as much when you can fix and heal things with magic.”

“That does not change the fact that these _adults_ are responsible for the safety and well-being of _children_. Surely your Headmaster cannot believe this man to have actually tried to harm you, or anyone, in any way, and still let him carry on.”

“I guess not.” Hal mumbled.

He wasn’t so sure. But he could tell this logic would reassure her – and it would have been sound, if he’d felt like the old wizard applied any logic at all.

“Now, darling, I know I can’t tell you to reconsider being in your sports team…”

“No, you can’t.” Hal laughed.

There wasn’t a chance in Hell he was giving up Quidditch.

“Just be careful for me, okay?” She urged him fondly. “Magic can’t fix everything.”

“I will.” He promised. “I’m not _looking_ for trouble, auntie.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” She replied with a smile in her voice. “How’s your head now?”

“It’s fine.” Hal said without lying.

It hadn’t bothered him since the end of the game. Dumbledore had spouted some cryptic shit about that too, but nothing constructive.

“I need a haircut, by the way, can I get one when I come home for Easter?”

“Of course, love.”

It was always tricky to keep it long enough to fully cover his scar, but not too long that it would look ridiculous. 

“I should probably go.” Petunia said. “Ley is threatening to cook if I don’t want to do it, and we both know it wouldn’t end well.”

Hal laughed, and said goodbye to his aunt – he’d spoken to Ley earlier too, but he still told her to tell him Little John Silver said hi. Ron walked into the dorm just as he was putting the phone down.

“Oh, there you are. Speaking to your folks?”

“Yeah.” Hal nodded. “I had to tell my aunt about the game.”

It wasn’t entirely true; he didn’t _have_ to tell her. He just had.

“She’s not making you quit, is she?” Ron winced.

“No, she couldn’t if she tried.”

“Good.” The other boy grinned. “Because you were brilliant, mate, curse and all. With you in the team, we have a chance of winning the cup, or, well, at least we won’t end up last.”

“I really love it.” Hal confessed. “It sucks that I won’t be able to practice over the summer though.”

“You could always visit.” Ron suggested. “We’re always having games in our back garden. Mom would _love_ to have you, she’s beside herself that we’re mates.”

Hal snorted, to mask his embarrassment. He didn’t think his status as a celebrity was something he would ever get used to, and while most Hogwarts students had gotten over it by now, it was clear that some of their parents hadn’t.

“Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“What, your mom’s unhealthy obsession with me?” Hal joked.

“Ew, no, shut up. It’s Fred and George’s birthday on the first, and they’re having a party at home at the start of the holiday. They wanted to invite the whole Quidditch team.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Hal smiled, pleased at the thought. “I’ll ask my aunt next time I call her. I’m sure she’ll let me come.”

“Great.” Ron nodded. “But, hum, I mean obviously it’s not _my_ birthday, so the others aren’t invited, I don’t want them to feel like...”

“Mate, I’m sure they’ll understand, we’re not five.” Hal assessed. “I mean, I’ll avoid making a big deal of it, but we’re not going to keep it a secret or anything, right?”

“Right.” Ron cleared his throat. “No. Of course. You’re right. Sorry, big family, I’m used to the squabbling.”

“Can’t really blame you there.”

“Was it weird for you growing up?” Ron suddenly asked. “I mean, with your aunt, with your cousin being her son and you being her nephew…”

“She always treated us the same, if that’s what you’re asking.” Hal said. “I think maybe when we were little, before my uncle died, it was a bit different, because he didn’t like me much, but I don’t really remember those years.”

He did, a little. He remembered it being a lot lonelier, and cold, like he wasn’t shown much love, like his aunt and uncle only touched him to perfunctorily tend to his basic needs or remove him from their way, and like Ley was barely there at all. He was glad he didn’t have any concrete memories, really. 

“I don’t call her mom.” He carried on, feeling like he could tell Ron these things without being judged. “Because she’s not, I’m not going to rewrite that. But she raised me like she was. She raised us both as brothers. They’re my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Ron nodded thoughtfully. “It’s nice. I mean, obviously it sucks that your parents are dead and all, but this is… also, er, good.”

Hal couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re shit at this, aren’t you?” He told his friend.

Ron laughed with him. “Yeah, I really am.”

“Come on then, quit trying.” Hal offered. “Let’s go play Exploding Snap with Seamus and Dean.”

* *

*

Draco had a dilemma on his hands. With three days to go to the Easter holidays, he had received a letter from his mother that morning, informing him that she had been invited to visit her dear friend Michelle in her villa in the south of France, and would he therefore mind terribly staying at Hogwarts over the break. Yes, Draco minded, but what choice did that leave him with? 

Well, that was the dilemma. He could stay. On his own, since all his friends would be going home to their loving families, while _Flint_ and his cronies would be staying – he’d overheard as much when sitting with the Gryffindors, as Wood was complaining he’d booked the Quidditch pitch for practice almost every day, holidays included. Draco thought that would certainly mean hell for him, as the little gang had still been insulting him, tripping him up in the corridors and asking him for money any of the few times they could find him isolated.

Or, he could ask one of his friends if there was any chance he could stay with them over Easter. That, however, would imply telling them _why_ he really didn’t want to stay in the castle without the protection of his friends, classmates, and general crowds of students. There would be a few people left, of course, but not enough to make it hard work for Flint hounding him down. It was never going beyond a few shoves, slurs, creepy grins and racking the few coins he had in his pockets at the time, but they also didn’t really seem to be getting bored with picking on him. 

He didn’t want to ask Anthony, because he would have to admit things were a little worse than what he’d led him to believe when he’d asked. And he didn’t want to ask the others, because he would have to tell them about it altogether. But he also really, really didn’t want to stay.

He sprung up from the common room armchair he was stroppily lounging in, suddenly struck by an idea. His godfather! He could ask Severus if he could stay with him, say he just wanted to get a chance to spend time with him outside of school. He only had to mention the fact that Narcissa would be away, he didn’t need any other reason than that, it wouldn’t be suspicious since he was family.

Confident that he had found the perfect solution, he headed happily to the dungeons to find Severus and ask him immediately. His godfather was happy to see him, offered him a cup of tea, and Draco explained the situation with his mother and made his suggestion, not even pausing to imagine that the answer could be-

“No.” Severus said. 

Draco stopped talking dead in his tracks.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Draco.” Severus said kindly, but firmly. “I would love to spend more time with you, but I have things to attend to. I can’t.”

“But…” Draco started, and stopped himself when hearing how small and childish his voice sounded.

He took a few moments – and a couple of deep breaths – to collect himself, and let his education kick back in.

“I understand.” He assured stiffly. “It was silly of me to assume. Of course you are busy.”

“I’m sorry.” Sev repeated. “I have a lot going on. I believe Miss Parkinson is staying, though?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not really that close with Pansy and the others, you know, not being a Slytherin and all that.”

It occurred to him then that maybe there laid an alternative solution to his problem. If he made more of an effort to rekindle his ready-made friendships with the other Pureblood kids he’d spent part of his childhood with, maybe the older Slytherin boys would leave him alone. He’d have guest privileges, unspoken protection from the other students, which would certainly be more than what little shielding being related to their head of House offered. At least he hopped so.

“But you’re right.” He added. “I could spend more time with them.”

“They won’t hold your sorting against you.” Severus stated. 

Draco thought it was probably a bit optimistic of him, but he knew the man had always felt protective of his snakes. He had an _I’ll trust you until you prove me wrong_ approach to the kids in his House, which was pretty much reversed when it came to kids in other houses, but then maybe each Head of House semi-subconsciously did the same with their lot.

Draco did feel better as he left the dungeons, and thought maybe, he could just survive this holiday like a big boy. It wasn’t that he was _scared_ of Flint and the others. Inconvenienced was more accurate. A bit humiliated, but what would he gain in fighting back. He could bear to lose a few galleons, and he didn’t want them to start getting ideas about hexing the people he cared about – and quite objectively, at one eleven year-old against five almost fully grown teenagers, he didn’t really like his chances. 

So he made it his strategy to approach the Slytherins first years every now and again in the following couple of days. His friends found it odd, but it would look less suspicious this way than if he simply started following Pansy and the others around during the holiday. He just shrugged it off and argued he’d known them for years, and there was no reason he shouldn’t stay friendly.

“Them all being Slytherin gits would be a reason.” Ron mumbled at that.

Before Draco could say anything, Hermione slapped the back of his head.

“This is just as intolerant as anyone looking down on me for _no reason_ other than I was born a Muggle.” She said sharply. “Do not generalise.”

“Thank you, Hermione.” Draco nodded his head to her, trying very hard not to laugh in Ron’s outraged face. “Besides.” He added with a sigh. “Gits or not, I’ll probably end up marrying one of them, so.”

“What?” Hal spat out his pumpkin juice – it was gross, really.

“Pureblood families marry into each other.” Draco explained. “To ensure the purity remains, since that’s all a lot of them care about. Most marriages are arranged, though maybe less so nowadays. Still, I think my mother probably has made her shortlist already by now. I’m guessing it has Pansy, Daphne and her sister, and the Carrow twins – they’re younger, you’ve not met them. Millie, I’m not sure, maybe Euphemia, though she’s nasty. If none of that worked out, I suppose Ginevra would be an acceptable match to her as well.”

He said this last part to Ron, and watched as his face twisted into a grimace of pure disgust.

“Don’t you dare.” He threatened.

“Trust me, I have no interest in your sister.” Draco rolled his eyes. “But you guys _are_ Purebloods.”

“Can we start talking about something less cringey?” Anthony pleaded. 

Everyone readily agreed. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received such great comments, I've pushed out another chapter for you! It's a short one, but it's something. Hope you enjoy, you guys keep me going ^^

The first two days of the Easter break went great, and Draco was comforted that everything would be alright. He spent time with some of his fellow Ravenclaws who were staying, whom he was friendly with even if he didn’t know them well, and he spent time with the Slytherin first year group – they didn’t seem to really mind either way, it was a bit like they were part of each other’s landscape, after years of being lumped together at the same parties and gatherings. They probably reasoned the same way he did: they’d be part of each other’s families at some point, in some combination or other, for those of them who weren’t already more or less distantly related.

On the third day, he even accepted an invitation to come play games in the Slytherin common room, and he found himself having a lot of fun. They were drinking light sparkling wine that Daphne’s father had shipped her disguised as potion supplies – it wasn’t uncommon in Pureblood circle for parents to facilitate that, they had all been drinking low percentage alcohol since they were about eight – while alternating hilarious rounds of Guess Who with bits of parchment stuck to their foreheads and ludicrously competitive games of Exploding snap.

Draco froze mid laugh when Flint and two of his mates entered the common room. He tried to make himself smaller under the green blanket Blaise had thrown over his shoulders at some point (because the dungeons were bloody _freezing_ , in Draco’s opinion), as the Flint’s eyes glossed over their little group, unfocused… and unfortunately snapped right back on him. To Draco’s surprise, however, he didn’t say anything, he just grinned, as if the whole thing was surprisingly amusing, and went to sit with his own friends like it was all completely normal.

After a few minutes of sitting tensely – though none of the others seem to notice anything, but Draco had an _excellent_ poker face, thank you very much – he was able to relax and start having fun again, getting over the surprise that nothing had happened and all but forgetting about Flint in his corner. There was enough to concentrate with the countless little barbs from Pansy, the no-so-subtle way Vincent was always trying to see what everyone else was thinking before forming an opinion, and the casual questions from Blaise that somehow always managed to be about things that were wholly none of his business.

Such as when he asked: “Is it true that Potter has nightmares about You-Know-Who?”

Draco choked slightly on the sip of wine he’d just taken.

“Erm, I don’t know.” He said honestly, though also thinking he wouldn’t exactly share that information if he did know.

“Because I mean, technically, he’s _seen_ him, you know? I wonder if he like, remembers his face? Like obviously not clearly or anything but somewhere in his deep memories.”

“Oh stop trying to _think_.” Pansy rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. “You always come up with the weirdest shit, I swear to Morgana.”

“What?” Blaise shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re not wondering all sorts of things about him.”

“Like I spend any time thinking about Harry Potter.” She sniffed, looking at her nails.

“Yeah, right.” Blaise scoffed. “You’re just jealous because Draco beat you to the clever move that was befriending him.”

“It wasn’t a move.” Draco frowned, immediately realising it was a lie – and the look Blaise cast him said as much.

It had been a move. He cared a lot for Hal now, as a person, regardless of whatever history they were both tangled in, but originally, yeah. He’d wanted to be his friend because he was _Harry Potter_ , and it seemed like a good alliance to make.

“You’re boring, Zabini.” Pansy decided, and she got up and left, taking Daphne with her. 

Blaise mimed an imitation of her – one that was strangely good – and went off to sulk as well.

“Right, well.” Draco sighed to the remaining three – Vince, Greg and Theo. “I should probably head back before curfew anyway. I’ll see you guys around.”

They muttered some goodbyes, and Draco headed out. In doing so, he walked past where Flint and other older students were seated. The former looked up, and grinned at him again.

“Looking good in green, birdie.” He called out.

Draco realised he was still wearing the blanket, and hurried to unwrap it from his shoulders and leave it on the back of a chair, making sure to leave the common room and run back to his own quarters before Flint changed his mind about being civil (that had weirdly sounded more like a compliment than a jab, even though it had made Draco’s skin crawl).

He only felt like he could breathe once he was safely in his bedroom – which felt oddly empty without Anthony, even though it was usually just the two of them. He wondered how it was to share a whole dorm with four or five other boys. It must work for most people, if Ravenclaw was the only House going for rooms of just two. 

As his heart rate went back to normal – and no he still wasn’t _scared_ , he just felt a little bit like a deer who had been ambushed on a hunt and then realised the hunter wasn’t going to cast any spells or release the dogs, and also he’d ran all the way there – he paused to rethink what had just happened. His plan had… worked? It seemed being an honorary Slytherin for the night had somehow made him off-limits for bullying, at least there and then. He’d take that.

He just had to hope it would last.

* *

*

The Burrow was the weirdest house Hal had seen in his life. Looking at it, he wondered how it even managed to stay upright. It looked a bit like it used to be a nice small cottage, and the Weasleys had added a floor every time they’d had another child. When Hal arrived (Mr Weasley and Ron had picked him up from the train station), the house was already bustling with children and screams of joy. 

Hal spotted a number of ginger heads; Fred and George who seemed to be playing catch with garden gnomes with the rest of the Quidditch team and Lee, two older boys he assumed were Bill and Charlie, from Ron’s accounts, Ron’s little sister screaming encouragements (or maybe abuse) at the lot of them, and Percy trying to look cool reading a book straddling a windowsill higher up.

And, notably, Mrs Weasley who was excitedly waving him in.

“Harry, darling, come in, come in! It’s so nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs Weasley.” Hal beamed at her – her smile was warm and contagious. 

“Oh please, call me Molly.” She waved her hand.

“Okay.” Hal lied the universal lie all kids lie when asked by their friend’s parents to call them by their first name.

“Come on!” Ron dragged him into the house. “Let me show you around before we join the others.”

He gave him the tour, all the kids’ bedrooms – up flights of stairs that each felt more precariously steep and narrow than the previous one, the attic that may or may not be haunted, the large messy front room, and the most wonderful kitchen Hal had ever seen. He paused in front of the clock, grinning at the hands – at the moment all pointing to _Home_.

“This is so cool.” He admired.

“Oh, yeah, mom loves this.” Ron said, in a tone that revealed he absolutely loved it too. 

“Did she make it?” Hal asked.

He was still hazy about what was and wasn’t possible in terms of magic, but it seemed one of the only limits was your own skill and creativity. It wasn’t uncommon for wizards to just go and invent spells (to varying degrees of success), magical items (case in point right there) or potions (Hal’s grandfather being a solid proof of that and, from what Draco had told him, Snape too, though less commercial about it).

“She did, yeah. She likes doing things around the house.”

You’d better, having had seven kids, Hal thought. 

“Hey.” A voice called behind them. “You coming or what? We’re playing Quidditch.”

Ron’s sister was in the doorway, clearly trying to look uninterested, though the way she tapped her foot against the frame gave away that she was all wired up with excitement. She was tall, for a ten year-old at least, and while she was wearing her bright ginger hair in pigtails, they were French-plaited (a term Hal had learnt from the Patil twins, who braided their hair _a lot_ ) on each side of her head, making her look older rather than girlish. 

“We’re coming.” Ron answered her.

“Cool.” She dropped. “Hi, Harry.” She added quickly, looking at a point left of Ron’s head – Hal was standing to his right.

“Hi.” Hal didn’t think she heard him, as she’d already ran away.

He turned to give Ron a look of confusion, but he only shrugged.

“She’s got a hero crush on you.” He said like this was absolutely normal. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure, great.” Hal said under his breath.

He didn’t let it spoil the mood as they joined the others. Ensued the most hilarious and chaotic game of Quidditch – if it could even still be called that by the end of it – that Hal had ever played. It ended in a water fight, though Hal thought it was much too cold for that, and didn’t really fancy getting ill again this year; but that was counting without Mrs Weasley casting a spell that felt like she’d turned a giant hair dryer on the lot of them, efficiently drying and warming them up when she called them in for cake.

The cakes were absolutely delicious. Hal told Ron he was lucky – his aunt was a decent cook, but she never had much time to bake, so they always ended up with something from Tesco – and Ron, sighing happily around a mouthful of perfect fluffy sponge and buttery frosting, complained that his mom almost only ever baked for birthdays.

“Ron.” Hal snorted. “There’s nine of you. That’s a whole lot of birthdays.”

And he wouldn’t even count the twins as one, because Mrs Weasley had made them _each_ their favourite cake – which Ron told him changed every year, and obviously they claimed it was never the same between them.

After cake and candles, they did presents – Hal had bought George a prank quill that started writing nonsense if you left it unattended, and Fred a Lego set to build a spaceship. Bit of a risk, that one, but Ley had wanted to pick something with him (he also would have loved to come, but he’d been invited on the same day by one of his friends from school, and as Hal pointed out it wasn’t Ron who had invited him – because Ron would definitely have told him to bring him – he’d decided, maybe next time. It was weird, being apart, not going out to the same friends). 

At any rate, Fred seemed to love the Lego. Mr Weasley certainly was showing a lot of interest, and when Hal said he and his cousin had loads of those, his eyes were positively sparkling with enthusiasm.

They moved on to playing Wizard Pictionary, which was like Muggle Pictionary, except that it involved a lot of wand-swishing and an enormous amount of nonsense. Hal found out on that occasion that underage magic was in fact possible outside of school, because, ha, _homework_. It was only possible, however, if a registered and authorised guardian cast a specific spell to allow it – all magic within it would then not trigger the minor’s Trace, but it had a time and space limit on it, set by the caster. A sort of permission ring.

It was very cool and convenient, but Hal thought, a little unfair to Muggleborn children, whose families didn’t have that recourse. But he figured, and from what little he’d gathered on the political climate from his friends, the Ministry of Magic had other priorities than to make things fair for Muggleborns.

Either way, he was glad the spell existed at all, because the game was epic. At one point however, almost unable to breathe from laughing, Hal had to leave his post for the loo. It had roughly been part of the tour – mentioned in passing, really – and he only got two doors wrong before he found it. He lingered on the way back, looking at the moving family photos on the wall, and he heard Ron shout from the bottom of the stairs.

“Hal! It’s our turn!”

Out of sight, presumably casually peering from the kitchen to check nothing (and no-one) was on fire, Mrs Weasley held back her son.

“What are you calling him?”

“Hal.” Hal could hear Ron answer. “It’s his nickname.”

“Hal.” She repeated thoughtfully.

Ron’s footsteps hurried back to the front room, and Hal only came two steps down the stairs when he heard Mrs Weasley’s voice again and reflexively stopped to listen.

“He’s just a boy, isn’t he?”

There was shuffling, and Hal suspected Mr Weasley was whom she was talking to.

“Why did you expect?” His voice confirmed it. He sounded fond and a little amused.

“I don’t know, but… Well. Oh, you know what I mean. Everyone talks about him, but he’s… he’s just a normal child, Arthur.”

“Yes, he is.”

“You know what...” Hal didn’t hear all of what Mrs Weasley was saying, her voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Let’s not talk about this.” Her husband replied more firmly. “It’s neither here nor there.”

Hal crept as quietly as he could back up the stairs, then made sure to make as much noise as possible coming back down, like he’d not been hovering there eavesdropping for the past few minutes.

He put the whole thing out of his mind as they carried on playing, but it came back to him on the way home, as he was trying his very best not to doze off on the train – the day had been amazing, but thoroughly exhausting. 

He tried to think of a similar celebrity to wrap his head around how and why people were so interested in his every move, but he couldn’t come up with anyone, apart from maybe royalty or like, David Beckham’s children, but they hadn’t done anything for themselves. Not that Hal had, in his own opinion – but it was different in that he was famous for himself, not because his parents had been anyone.

And it wasn’t like he was a _celebrity_ , not like that, he didn’t have photographers following him around and documenting his every move, or fans asking for autographs at every corner (though both those things had happened a few times), but he was famous enough for people to be surprised that he was just a normal kid, apparently. 

And there was just no getting used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I being too heavy with this whole ‘I’m the famous Harry Potter’ struggle? I just feel like this is something Hal wouldn’t just take in stride. In the books his fame is mentioned in various ways, but we don’t have that much of an insight on how he feels about it...
> 
> Just another note as we are only a few chapters short of the end of this opus. Book 2 is under way, but I've struggled to get it started, because, well, it kind of doesn't happen without Lucius and Vernon. Harry's birthday forgotten and miserable? Doesn't happen. The whole mess with Dobby? Doesn't happen. Harry not getting his letters? Getting broken out by the Weasleys because he's locked in his room? Missing the train and flying there in the car? Lucius slipping Ginny the diary and therefore the ENTIRE PLOT? Well, as you can imagine, I've had to find other ways to make it happen, and it's taking me some time to write. I just hope I can start posting without too much of a gap between books. Don't hesitate to share some of your ideas!


	12. May

Hermione gave them another exasperated look, but Draco knew there was nothing for it once Hal started playing with his cat. The tiny kitten had grown some, but he was still just as playful, and Hal was absolutely besotted with the creature – it was contagious, he told them how he’d found his aunt curled up with a book, the cat on her lap, during the holiday, though she’d previously tried to pretend she wasn’t interested and he was entirely the boys’ responsibility.

“You should really try not to get distracted so much, Hal.” Hermione chastised him. “You already have less time to study with your Quidditch practice, and…”

“And exams are coming up, I know, Hermione, I know.” Hal rolled his eyes with a smile – though whether he was smiling at her, or just couldn’t stop grinning as Silver pounced on the piece of string he was holding, was unclear.

To be fair, Draco loved the kitten too. It might have had something to do with the favouritism the feline showed towards him – apart from Hal, if anyone tried to pet him, they’d probably end up mauled. Draco, however, seemed to have earned the privilege of being able to scratch him under his neck without losing a finger.

“It’s because you have the same eyes.” Hal had told him.

Draco had looked into the steely grey-blue eyes of the little cat, and strangely the first thing that popped to his mind was that if he decided one day to become an Animagus (McGonagall’s little stint at the beginning of the year always had effect on many a first year), he’d be a cat. 

“It’s only first year exams, ‘Mione.” Ron moaned from where he was sprawled on the other side of the table. They were studying in the Ravenclaw common room, which was _so much_ better equipped for the purpose. “Why are you stressing about first year exams? Nobody stresses about first year exams. If you were _there_ you’ll pass the first year exams.”

“Stop saying first year exams.” Anthony winced. 

“It’s a formality.” Ron concluded.

“It doesn’t mean-” Hermione started again.

“I know.” Hal assured her again. “Do you want to call your parents?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you get away with distracting me with bribery, Harry James Potter. But yes.” She held out her hand for Hal to place the mobile phone with a triumphing grin. 

Draco still didn’t understand how these things worked, though he had to admit they were convenient. Quite a few of the Muggleborn students had them, though not many in first year, and Hal let Hermione borrow his every now and again.

“Come on.” Hal leaned in to whisper to him as Hermione stepped away. “Let’s get out while she’s distracted.”

The weather was getting more consistently nice these days, and Hal, Draco had discovered, was an outdoor person, and he was out in the fresh air whenever he got a chance. He tanned like nobody’s business, which seemed quite a feat having had a redhead as a mother, and had a laugh that carried across entire fields.

Draco could just picture him playing havoc around the neighbourhood with his cousin in previous years, as he had so far demonstrated he could run for Britain (he wasn’t only fast on a broom), climb just about anything and squeeze into the smallest spaces. He’d even threatened to go for a swim in the lake once or twice, but Draco had so far managed to remind him that this was Scotland – it could be as hot as it wanted to be outside (for about two days a year, on good years), the water would still be freezing cold.

Hal also seemed more freely fascinated with magic when they were outdoors. He loved practicing spells, having the space to do so, and though he had originally started learning a few basic things to ‘catch himself up’, he’d said, compared to Wizard-born children who would naturally acquire them at home, he’d just carried on, and Draco suspected he now knew about as much, if not more, as a third-year would.

They made a run for it when Hermione had her back turned, leaving Anthony cackling and Ron looking outraged that he’d not been invited to join them – and it wasn’t unusual, but really, Draco thought, when had those little escapades outdoors become ‘their thing’? Hal looped back through the Gryffindor dorms to drop off Silver (they’d taken him out once, he’d dashed off, and they’d spent the next two hours looking for him until Neville came to tell them he’d made his way back to the common room, somehow).

After a short walk, they ended up by the lakeshore transfiguring pebbles into beetles – it wasn’t working that well, the spell would hold for about two minutes before you were looking at walking rocks, which stopped altogether shortly after that. They looked up as they heard footsteps, and came face to face with McGonagall, out on a walk, some epic tartanwear going on that they had to try very hard not to laugh at.

She looked down at the last beetle Hal had transfigured taking a little spin before it reverted back to its mineral state, and then at Hal thoughtfully. Draco didn’t think they had done anything wrong, it was pretty harmless magic though transfiguration always came with a warning, but Hal did that innocent smile and wide eyes thing that fooled exactly no one but still made people go soft, and in the end she shook her head.

“You are just like your mother.” She commented. “See that you do not hurt yourself or others, Mister Potter.”

Hal’s smile dropped and he went rather white. 

“Oh.” He breathed out. “That’s new.”

“Hal.” Draco grabbed his arm urgently.

“I’m fine, it just took me by surprise.” Hal said.

“No, I mean, we can talk about this later if you want.” Draco shook his arm, pointing across the grounds. “But I think Hagrid’s hut is on fire.”

“What?” Hal spun around, and sure enough, back uphill and beyond the greenhouses, near the edge of the forest, you could see the little house glowing in the setting dusk. 

Then of course, Hal started running towards it, leaving Draco to once again realise his utter lack of fitness as he went after him. By the time he caught up and reached the gamekeeper’s cottage, Hal was casting _Aguamenti_ after _Aguamenti_ (another spell he’d mastered like it wasn’t something you learnt in 6th year and that wizards only tended to really start using once they were overage and had to leave the nest) and the fire looked under control. A corner of the roof and connecting wall had caved in, but the house seemed to be otherwise standing, though significantly singed in a few places. 

Hagrid was standing a few paces off, looking extremely sheepish, holding his dog’s nape with one hand and a suspiciously moving bundle of wet rags in the other arm.

“What happened?” Hal called out.

He only seemed slightly out of breath from his run and subsequent spellcasting, while Draco felt just about ready to cough up a lung. He really needed to work on his cardio.

“Er.” Hagrid started. 

He didn’t go any further in his explanation (or lie) as the bundle in his arms _screeched_ and tried to get away (both of Hagrid’s arms clamped around it) and _oh, fuck_ , Draco had been to his ancient, and therefore deep underground family vault often enough, he knew that sound. Not to mention the pointy, leathery wing that slipped out from under the cloth.

“Is that a _dragon_?” He blanched.

“Errr…” Hagrid repeated, and it was as good as a confession. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Yes.” Hal snorted. “Let’s go back inside this _wooden house_ with a fire-breathing dragon.”

“Look, Norbert didn’t mean it, he got excited and…”

“And it will happen again!” Hal pointed out. “What even… Do you know how big these things grow?”

“How do _you_ know how big they grow?” Draco blurted out.

Hal grinned. “I met Charlie Weasley.” He said.

And yeah, that made sense, if he’d been around him for longer than two minutes, he’d have learnt a lot of ‘fun facts’ about dragons. Draco remembered him being _obsessed_ with the creatures as a younger kid, and it had come to nobody’s surprise when he’d been accepted for a job in a dragon sanctuary before he’d even received his NEWTs results.

“So, yeah.” Hal concluded. “At least as big as half the Burrow. Which is four times as high as your house.” 

He gave the gamekeeper a pointed look. He didn’t seem to care, or worry that the gigantic man could squash him like a bug. Or set a big dog on him. Or even a dragon, for that matter. Even if the students knew Hagrid was harmless – he was around the castle often enough, saying hello, telling people to stop calling him _sir_ – he still was rather intimidating at least in terms of his size. 

“He’s just a baby.” Hagrid argued, and he looked like he had tears in his eyes. Maybe Hal had a point, not being afraid to give him sass.

Hal, in fact, seemed to be channelling his inner Hermione as he planted his hands on his hips and looked up sternly.

“You can’t keep him.” He asserted.

“But-”

“Hal’s right, Hagrid.” Draco intervened. “There’s a reason why we have dragon sanctuaries.”

Hagrid gave him a watery look. “Who’s ‘Al?” He asked, clearly not pausing to think for a second.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Harry.” He pointed at Hal.

“Oh.” Hagrid looked at him like he’d never seen him before. “Okay.”

Hal did not refrain from rolling his eyes.

“I don’t think my nickname is what we need to focus on right now.” He pointed out. “Hagrid.” He said firmly, looking straight at the man. “We won’t tell on you or anything, but you can’t keep a dragon in your hut. Think about it. Even as little as he is now, he almost burned your house down. He will need more and more space. He will grow _huge_. You can’t keep him this close to the school.”

He stepped forward, and Draco felt his heart jump as he patted Hagrid’s arm, _right the fuck next_ to the moving bundle of dragon. 

“He won’t be happy here.” Hal delivered the final blow. “Think how much happier he would be running and flying free with some friends.”

“Yer right.” Hagrid sniffled, shaking his head. “Yer right. I’ll take him. You think they’ll let me visit?”

“I am sure they will.” Hal patted his arm again, and jumped backwards as the leathery wing flapped.

“How did you even get a dragon?” Draco asked, pulling Hal back to what he thought was a safer distance. 

Not that his previous encounters with lethal creatures had been particularly thought out, but given how head-on Hal had faced the three-headed dog and troll, Draco was starting to suspect he was too reckless for his own good.

“Won th’egg at a game o’ cards.” Hagrid confessed into his beard.

Hal raised an eyebrow again. “You won a dragon egg at cards? What, some bloke with a gambling problem just happened to have one lying around in his pocket?”

“That is not shady at all.” Draco added dryly.

Had the big oaf stopped to _think_ at any point in that entire ordeal?

“He was ay dragon breeder!” Hagrid tried to defend. “It’s not illegal.”

“Only under very restricted conditions it isn’t.” Draco argued back. “Which I somehow doubt were met. Since he just, you know, handed the egg over to you.”

“Wasn’t like that, he checked I could take care of it.” Hagrid insisted. “I said if I can handle a Cerberus, I-”

He stopped himself, _finally_ (Draco thought) showing that some of his brain cells were connected. But the damage was already done, and Draco suspected he mirrored the look of surprise he could see on Hal’s face, jaw dropping and eyebrows shooting up.

“That thing is yours?” Hal asked, clearly shocked. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. “Again, in a _school_?”

He muttered something else that Draco thought may or may not have been _what is wrong with you people_. 

“Fluffy’s a right nice dog.” Hagrid grumbled defensively. “He likes music, he’s not a beast.”

“Fluffy.” Hal repeated. “Likes music.”

He turned to Draco with a helpless look. Draco had to bite his lower lip to prevent himself from bursting out laughing, because this whole thing was utterly ridiculous. He spotted the same mirth creeping into Hal’s eyes.

“I’ll sort it, arite.” Hagrid pledged to the two boys.

“We trust you.” Hal told him seriously, before pointing his wand at the roof. “ _Reparo_.”

Draco watched as the debris flew up to reform a wall and the thatch obediently fell into place, and wondered once more at Hal’s magical talent. He wasn’t that good in class, in terms of his grades, probably because he thought writing essays was just painful, but any practical application seemed to come to him with absurd ease, once he’d decided to learn it.

“It’s getting dark, we should get going.” He concluded, apparently pleased with his handiwork. “Hagrid, think of what’s best for… Norbert.”

Hagrid nodded, his eyes filled with tears again, and waved at them – with the hand that was no longer holding the dog – as they walked away.

Hal turned back once, probably to check they’d put enough distance between them and the hut to be out of earshot, and shook his head with a short laugh.

“Oh my god.” He chuckled.

“That about sums it up.” Draco deadpanned.

They both cracked up, and started laughing so hard they actually had to stop for breath, doubled over and leaning on each other for support. Once their hilarity had subsided, and they carried on walking towards the castle, Draco looked back thoughtfully at the (still faintly smoking) hut.

“Do you think he’ll take him to the sanctuary?” He asked.

Hal huffed. “Well, he won’t do it for us. But I think he’ll want to do what’s best for the dragon.”

Draco shook his head with a lingering smile, mouthing _dragon_ – he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“What about that dog?” Hal carried on. “I mean, what the hell?”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Draco confessed. “Things might get a bit… reckless, around here, but there still must be a reason why that thing is inside the school.”

Hal looked like he was concentrating for a moment, brow furrowed and his lips pursed in a thin line. He remained silent, clearly coming to some conclusions in his head, for long enough that Draco had to ask.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well.” Hal hesitated. “Do you remember what Anthony’s cousin said when we asked him?”

“Cerberus are often guard dogs.” Draco recalled.

“Right.” Hal nodded. “So maybe it’s guarding something. But what could be so important that it would be kept here, and guarded by a giant Cerberus?”

“Gringotts would seem like a better place for it.” Draco noted.

“I thought that too at first, but… Back in September, you know when everyone was talking about the break in at Gringotts?”

“Nothing was stolen.” Draco reminded him.

“Doesn’t mean they didn’t try. Whatever they were looking for had already been removed. What if…”

Hal gave him a meaningful look, and Draco finished his thought.

“What if it’s here now?”

* *

*

“You guys are both insane.”

Hal gave Anthony an unimpressed look, because no, it wasn’t insane, they had thought this through carefully with Draco, and once they’d reached that conclusion, it really seemed to be the only one that made sense.

“Why would someone take something out of a secure vault in Gringotts and bring it to a school for safekeeping?” Anthony insisted.

“Well, it did almost get stolen from Gringotts.” Hal pointed out. “And as far as we know, nobody got past that dog, have they?”

“But it’s a _school_.” Neville sided with Anthony.

“I think they’re right.” Hermione stepped in, and Anthony groaned, because if Hermione thought you were right, chances were you definitely were.

“You as well?” He moaned.

“It does feel like too much of a coincidence.” She assessed. “This may be a school, it is probably the safest place in Britain, even before Gringotts. I’d like to think the wards to protect children are stronger than the ones in place to protect gold.”

Ron snorted. “You _would_ like to think so, wouldn’t you. It’d be nice to be so sure.”

Hermione let out a small huff of frustration.

“Either way.” She said. “This is a safe place.”

“But it isn’t a bank.” Anthony countered. “You don’t just rent a room with a Cerberus to stash your stuff.

“Well, no.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “But we’re not saying just anyone could have taken whatever it was from Gringotts to put it here. It would be something a member of the faculty, probably even Dumbledore himself, wants to keep close.”

“And what do you think that would be?” He challenged.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Those weren’t words you’d often hear Hermione say, but she did not try to pretend she could have known. “I wouldn’t presume to know what the greatest wizard of our time gets up to, or what artefacts he may have use for.”

“She’s got a point.” Draco piped up. “I think Dumbledore would probably let other staff use the school for something important, but it’s more likely to be his.”

“Could be anything.” Neville concluded.

“Well, it’s safe anyway.” Hermione nodded her head with determination. “Anyone would be _mad_ to try and steal something from under Dumbledore’s nose.”

As she made her statement, Hal spotted movement from the corner of his eye, like someone had been hiding behind the corner of the cloister they were sat in – it was a beautiful day, and everyone had eventually decided Hal and Draco had it right wanting to be outside, and had given up studying – and was suddenly scurrying away. He only caught sight of a flap of purple cloak, which told him without much room for doubt who it had been. 

“Hal?” Ron poked his arm, seeing him frown. “What’s up, mate?”

“Nothing, sorry.” Hal turned back to them. “I think Quirrell was eavesdropping or something.”

“You have a serious problem with trusting authority.” Anthony commented lightly.

Hal snorted. “I have a problem trusting Quirrell, he’s not authority.” He argued.

“He’s got a point.” Ron said, at the same time as Hermione sighed: “What’s he done to you?”

“Well.” Hal raised a brow. “We didn’t establish he did _not_ try to kill me during the last Quidditch game.”

“But you spoke to Dumbledore, and he said not to worry.”

“Yeah, well, Dumbledore also has a giant three-headed dog in a _school_ behind a door a simple unlocking spell will open, so forgive me if I don’t exactly count that as proof that there is nothing to worry about.”

“He’s got a point again.” Ron piped up. 

Hermione glared at him, and at Hal next. “Well, if you are quite done suspecting our _teachers_ of being personally after you – because let me remind you, you felt the same about Professor Snape-”

“Who did confirm he was prejudiced against me, go on.” Hal slipped in.

“Oh, I give up with you all.” Hermione huffed. 

She gathered her books and, true to her word, actually got up and left. Neville watched her go somewhat anxiously, while the remaining boys were pressing their lips together and trying not to laugh until she was well out of sight and earshot.

“I love her.” Hal giggled once it seemed safe to do so. “But sometimes, she’s so intense.” 

“Sometimes?” Anthony laughed as well.

“She’s better than the lot of us put together.” Neville frowned.

“Oh, we’re not arguing against that.” Ron smiled.

* *

*

The last Quidditch game of the season would determine the cup winner, and it was not doing Oliver Wood’s anxiety disorder (as diagnosed by the Weasley twins) any favours. If Gryffindor won, they would get the cup. If they lost, Ravenclaw would. If they tied – Slytherin would, which was simply unacceptable. Hal had made the mistake of suggesting it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and they all had gotten a twenty-minute lecture that boiled down to Yes, it would be the end of the world, because Oliver would kill them all.

Still, in spite of the mounting pressure, Hal was enjoying practice. He loved flying, that wasn’t going away, and the competitive aspect challenged him in a good way. He really got along with the team as well – in spite of being by a minimum of two years the youngest, he didn’t feel like they were babying him.

On the day of the game itself, however, Hal found he was nervous. The fact that there was an audience now, and that somewhere in that audience could be someone cursing his broom again was, quite honestly, putting him off his game. He didn’t know if that same uneasy feeling was spreading to the rest of the team, or if it was down to the absolutely shocking weather they were faced with, but Gryffindor spent the first half of the game playing the worst Quidditch they had ever played, or so it felt.

Oliver’s pep talk at half-time reminded Hal of a disaster movie – you’d think the Apocalypse was upon them. At the end of it, he approached him personally and grabbed both his shoulders.

“Harry.” He said gravely. “You have to catch the Snitch.”

“That’s usually what I try to do.” Hal quipped.

“But you can’t catch it too soon.” Oliver carried on as if he hadn’t spoken – which was probably for the best. “We’re two hundred points down. If you end the game before we’ve closed the gap, we’ll lose.”

Hal had already done the math, but he nodded as if his Captain was providing valuable insight.

“I’m counting on you.” Oliver pledged solemnly.

“I’ll try not to disappoint.” Hal resolved.

“Hal!” Came a whisper to the side.

Oliver went off to berate Angelina, and Hal turned to find Ron at the edge of the dressing room.

“Mate, what a shit game.” The redhead opened with.

“Thanks.” Hal snorted.

“I didn’t mean you.” Ron started, but Hal raised a hand to stop him.

“No, you’d be right.” He sighed. “I’ve not been feeling confident.”

“Is it about… Draco wanted to come.” Ron interrupted himself. “But he figured he’d be yelled out of the room, being the enemy today and all.”

“Probably wise.” Hal mused, casting a look at Oliver who had moved on to getting Fred and George to promise hellfire on their opponent.

“Anyway, he thought you’d want to know, Quirrell isn’t there. Neither are a lot of the Slytherins. So that’s like, the main suspects for what happened last time.”

“Oh, alright.” Hal tried to sound casual, but he actually felt like a big weight was lifted off his chest, and that made him realise he’d been more anxious, afraid even, than he’d thought he was. “That’s good. Didn’t really fancy another rodeo in this rain.”

“No, I bet.” Ron shuffled, then clapped him on the back. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back. See you after.”

Hal waved him off, and joined the rest of the team for the last “once more unto the breech” injunctions from Oliver.

When they went back to the pitch, the difference was so palpable Hal could feel it in the air. Maybe the Ravenclaw were feeling a bit too confidence with their advance, and their game got sloppier. Maybe the Gryffindor players figured Oliver might _actually_ eviscerate one of them if they lost. Maybe the rain had let up a bit – or maybe Hal was just a bit more confident he wasn’t going to die, and he was projecting his feelings on everyone else. At any rate, they dominated the second half.

Hal spotted the Snitch a first time, but quickly calculated that they were still down too many points to win if he caught it, so he promptly zoomed to the opposite side of the field, satisfied when the Ravenclaw Seeker – who either didn’t count points, or didn’t think Hal did – followed him.

The next time it came into view, it was Hal’s opposite number who saw it and dived for it. Hal went right after him, to stop him catching him more than to catch it himself – steadily, his team had been closing the gap, but they were still a goal (and the points for the Snitch) short of victory. He batted the other boy’s hand away inches from the golden ball, and then several things happened at once.

“HARRY!” A shout called his attention. “GO FOR IT!”

He turned his head, and saw Angelina was taking a shot, just as Fred (who had called his name) was beating a Bulger off in the same general direction to distract the Ravenclaw goalkeeper. As if in slow motion, he watched the Quaffle head towards the rings, as his left arm flew out in instinct towards the glint of gold he had kept in the corner of his eye. The larger ball went through a ring, about a quarter of a second before Hal’s hand closed around the smaller one.

Mrs Hooch blew the whistle and Lee Jordan’s commentary was just shrieking for a half a minute, with another half of _DID YOU SEE THAT!? DID YOU SEE THAT!?_ before he managed to get past the shock enough to officially proclaimed Gryffindor as the winner of the game, and of the cup, to a deafening roar from the supporters.

As soon as they were on the ground, Oliver grabbed Angelina, Fred and Hal in one big hug, and he was actually crying.

“This-” He choked up. “This was the best teamwork- The best- The best timing- The teamwork…”

“We know, Ollie.” Fred patted his back. “We’re the best.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t miss?” Angelina asked Fred when Oliver let them go to hug and sob on other players.

“I didn’t.” He replied with a wide grin. “I had faith.”

Hal wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, he turned around for a second, and when he looked again, the two of them were kissing passionately, and he decided on a strategic retreat. He met his friends running towards him a few yards away.

“That was amazing!” Neville gushed. “How did you time it that precisely?”

“I didn’t.” Hal laughed. “We got really lucky.”

“I don’t think it was all luck.” Draco noted, looking appreciative.

“I hate you, you Gryffindor heathen.” Anthony said dramatically. “How dare you rob us of this victory!”

“Sorry.” Hal grinned, not sorry.

Anthony gave him a slap on the back. “Well done, mate.” He grinned back. “Totally undeserved win, given how you guys played in the first half, but that was a great catch.”

“Totally deserved win, given how they played in the second half.” Ron argued.

Hal tuned out to the rest of the discussion about which team was more deserving, since his friends they would end up agreeing exactly never, and caught himself thinking he’d have loved for someone to be filming all this, so he could show his aunt and Ley back at home. Maybe next year, he should try to find someone who owned a video camera – surely some of the Muggleborns in Hogwarts did – and ask them if he could borrow it. Petunia would be horrified and find it extremely dangerous, no doubt, but Ley would love it.

“Next year might be me.” Draco suddenly said next to him.

“What?” Hal turned, startled out of his thoughts.

“I plan to try out for the team. As Seeker.” Draco specified. “So we might end up fighting one another for the cup.”

Hal beamed, exhilarated at the thought of flying with Draco, albeit on opposite teams.

“Better make it more challenging for me then, will you.” He teased.

“Don’t get cocky.” Hermione slipped in.

Hal laughed. “Me? Never.”

And he didn’t suspect how very much like James Potter he was in that moment.

* *

*

Quirinus Quirrell was faced with a decision. The Dark Lord was quiet. The Dark Lord only spoke to him when he had specific orders to give, or – Morgana forbid – some discontent to express. The Dark Lord would not want to be disturbed because Quirinus did not dare make a decision. The Dark Lord did not think the Potter boy was a threat, young as he still was – but He had not seen him. He had not heard him. The Potter boy was up to something. He knew about the Cerberus, he knew about the Stone, no doubt, and the rest of its protective measures, he was scheming, he was plotting, he was waiting to thwart Quirinus and the Dark Lord in their plans. Like Albus, like Severus, he was in the way.

Quirinus Quirrell made a decision. Like Albus, like Severus, the Potter boy would have to be removed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Okay so Draco’s not very kind to Hagrid, but come on, he is a bit of an idiot when it comes to magical creatures.  
> 2\. They’re not obsessed with finding out about the stone. The circumstances and their group of friends being different, I felt like they’d be more oblivious about what could possibly be unfolding - threats and evil plots further from their minds than they are in the books originally.  
> 3\. Metaphorical shit is about to hit the proverbial fan.


	13. June (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Although I had to split it in two because it was so long. I will post part 2 over the weekend. Then we're done :o 
> 
> My CoS rewrite is under way, but it might be a little while before I start posting, as I am a little reluctant to start sharing when it's still a WIP. I don't plan on leaving it unfinished, though!

The hardest part about exams had probably been managing Hermione’s stress, and the fallout of comments such as “it’s only exams”; although if the boys were honest with themselves, her intensity had probably helped kick them into gear a little, and they all most likely did a little better than they would have had without her inflexibility.

When all was said and done, Neville was a little nervous about how he’d managed, Hal was fairly sure it had gone a lot better in the practical parts than in the essays, Ron didn’t really care, Anthony and Draco had been confident enough that they’d played games in some of them (“I dare you to place the word _turnip_ in your Transfiguration essay”), and Hermione was happy with herself on the whole, though critical of some minute detail she could remember not getting quite perfect enough.

“FREEDOM!” Ron shouted with a ridiculous little dance when they were out of their final test.

A third year walking past in the corridor, carrying a pile of books and looking harrowed, cast him a dirty look. They still had days to go. Hermione smacked Ron’s arm and muttered something about being insensitive and having no respect for his peers.

“Seriously, though.” Ron beamed. “I feel so relaxed.”

Hal snorted. “Mate, I don’t think I saw you unrelaxed at any point.”

Ron shrugged with a grin. “Still feels nice.”

“Harry Potter?”

The whole group turned as one, and the Hufflepuff boy that had called out Hal’s name looked a little startled, but he looked straight at him – obviously he didn’t need Hal to answer or confirm his identity.

“Professor Quirrell was looking for you.” The boy announced.

Hal frowned. “Why?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know, do I? He’s in his office.”

He walked off, leaving Hal no option but to sigh and turn to his friends.

“Alright, well.” He resigned himself. “I’ll see you guys at dinner?”

“Sev asked me to tell him how the exams went.” Draco said, as the others nodded and expressed commiseration. “I’ll walk with you.”

Hal still thought it was weird to hear Draco refer to the unpleasant Potions master as ‘Sev’, but he supposed he could only trust him that the man was more bearable in a private and godfatherly capacity than he was during his classes.

They walked some of the way in companionable silence, until Draco had to take a turn down to the dungeons, and Hal carried on up the stairs to the DADA office.

“See you in a bit.” Draco wiggled his fingers at him.

Hal walked on, wondering with a small amount of dread what the professor could possibly want with him. Quirrell hadn’t been threatening, or anything, he’d pretty much ignored him actually, and Hal had come to think maybe Hermione was right and he was being a little paranoid in the idea that the man may have some kind of vendetta against him or his family name. But he still wasn’t comfortable at the idea of being alone with him in a small office. Maybe he should have brought back up. Was it too late to turn back and ask one of his friends to come with?

At the bottom of the staircase leading to where the Defence office was perched, he spotted Anthony’s cousin staring at the wall. They had spoken to the boy a few times, throughout the year, and he always seemed to be on a different planet.

“Hey, Rolf.” Hal greeted him.

“Oh, hello, Harry.” The boy only turned briefly, before looking back up at the wall. “I believe there are glowlice in these stones. Did you notice?”

“Er, no, I can’t say I did.” Said Hal, who did not have the faintest what glowlice were, but they sounded disgusting.

“How did your exams go?” Rolf asked, changing the topic.

“Not too bad, I think. You?”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “But you know, I’m twelve. I feel like things have time to get serious. I don’t worry about it too much.”

“I think that’s a good approach.” Hal grinned. “Hey, by the way.” He had a sudden thought. “Remember when we asked you about three-headed dogs?”

Rolf had a wry smile. “Hard to forget.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Hal snorted. “It was random. But, hum, I was wondering, are they like other dogs, like, some are friendly, some are bity…”

“They tend to be pretty fierce.” Rolf informed. “But they can be tamed, some magizoologists have knacks, you know? A bit like Muggles with lions.”

“Knacks like... music?” Hal tried (and probably failed) to sound like the example had just occurred to him.

“That is oddly specific.” Rolf frowned. “But yeah, I suppose.”

“Okay.” Hal smiled. “Thanks. Better run, Quirrell wanted to see me.”

“Okay.” Rolf repeated, giving a quick smile. “Oh, and Harry?”

“Hm?”

“I’d love to meet that dog, if there’s an opportunity for it.” Rolf added, confirming he had not been fooled for a second.

Hal huffed a laugh, and scuttled along, hopping up the stairs and not stopping to think (or change his mind) before he knocked on the door with a repressed sigh. It was only a minute before Quirrell opened the door.

“Ah! Mister P-Potter. P-please come in.”

Hal followed him in, feeling stupidly relieved when the man did not close the door on them. He went to his desk and picked up a book, which he handed him.

“I c-came across this, and I thought it m-m-might interest you.” He explained.

_Dark Curses and Their After Effects_ , Hal read on the cover. He looked up, and Quirrell was staring pointedly at where his scar was hidden, although he gave him a feeble smile and tried to pretend he hadn’t been.

“Thanks?” Hal tried to sound grateful rather than highly suspicious, even if he wanted to shove the thing back at the teacher and say _Keep your book, you weirdo_.

“I t-trust your exams went well.” Quirrell added – Hal thought it sounded rehearsed, and simply nodded and smiled uncomfortably. “I won’t k-keep you, P-Potter.”

He ushered him back to the door, Hal still holding the book and feeling a _lot_ more confused than when he’d first entered the room. 

Hal briefly had time to think _Okay, that was weird_ , when his feet suddenly felt like he’d stepped in something sticky, clinging at his ankles.

Next thing he knew, he was falling down the stairs.

* *

*

Draco was walking back from the dungeons, having not found Severus there – oddly, because where else would he be? He had complained enough, last time Draco had spoken to him, about having heaps of exam essays to read and mark and no time for anything else. Maybe he’d gone to fetch some food, though it was more like him to forget to eat and drink entirely, short of someone physically placing something in his hand.

He wondered if Hal was still with Quirrell, and decided to head that way to see if he could find him. He had crossed most of the first floor without meeting him on the way, and was getting near the staircase to the second floor when he heard a shout.

“HARRY!”

Draco broke into a run, his blood turning cold at the fear he could hear in the voice of whoever had just called Hal’s name. As he skid around the corner, he saw Rolf Scamander, rushing to the foot of the stairs, and Draco thought his heart was going to stop when he spotted a small body curled at the bottom of the steps, the mess of dark hair unmistakable. It did stutter, and restart, as Hal rolled on his back, eyes shut tightly closed in a grimace of pain.

“Ow.” He croaked.

Hal’s bag, one of his shoes and a book were scattered on different levels between the two floors, confirming to Draco that he had just fallen down the _entire flight_ of sharp, stone steps. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken his neck.

“Don’t move.” Rolf was telling him as Draco reached them. “What hurts?”

“I’m okay.” Hal clearly lied.

“What happened?” Draco crouched down to help him sit up, since he seemed intent on doing so, surreptitiously checking for any broken bones or open wounds.

“I’m okay.” Hal repeated, turning to Draco with a smile. “Sore.” He patted himself down. “Just sore. I think my magic acted up again, like that time with the troll? I do feel like I hit the ground, but not…” He gestured vaguely at the daunting staircase. “Like that.”

“Harry.” Rolf leaned to their level. “I saw Quirrell up there, just for a second, but he looked…” He hesitated, looking a little distressed. “He looked like he was checking you _did_ fall.”

Draco swore under his breath, and Hal swore not at all under his breath.

“He ran off towards the third floor.” Rolf added.

“Third floor?” Hal frowned. After a moment, his jaw clenched. “Okay.” He said determinedly. “We’re going to see Dumbledore.”

“He’s not here.” Rolf said.

“What?”

“I heard Professor McGonagall tell Professor Sprout over lunch. He’s been called away on business.”

Hal’s brow furrowed, and he turned to Draco.

“Snape?” He suggested.

Draco shook his head. “Couldn’t find him.”

Hal swore again, a whisper this time, and pushed himself up to his feet. He did seem like he was fine, to Draco’s surprise and relief.

“Right.” Hal nodded. “I think-”

“There you are!”

Hal looked almost annoyed at the intrusion, but his face softened as soon as he saw Ron, Hermione, Neville and Anthony approaching.

“Are we going to dinner or what?” Anthony called. “Oh, hey Rolf.”

“Mate, why did you throw your shoe?” Ron asked, pointing at the steps above.

“I didn’t throw my shoe.” Hal rolled his eyes. “I fell down the stairs.”

“Oh my god!” Hermione rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Hal waved off her concern. “Spontaneous magic cushioned my fall, or something. I’ll have a few bruises, nothing to write home about. More importantly, I think Quirrell is going after whatever the dog is guarding.”

“What?” Several voices rose.

Rolf murmured something about the dog that Draco didn’t quite catch.

“Dumbledore is away.” Hal lifted his fingers to count off what he clearly didn’t think were coincidences. “Snape can’t be found. And he just tried to murder me again.”

“ _What!?_ ” Several voices cried.

“Again?” Rolf asked quietly.

“Harry.” Hermione said gravely. “You can’t just say that.”

“I don’t know exactly what happened.” Hal said, frustrated. “But he sure as hell wasn’t trying to help, and he’s dashed to the third floor. Whatever is kept there, I’m going to hazard a wild guess and assume it falling into the hands of Quirrell is _not good_. So what do we do?”

Draco, and everyone else around them, knew he wasn’t really asking. There was an authority in his voice that could only make you think the words _born leader_. Hal was taking charge, and it was clearly a case of follow him, or stay behind.

“We should get Professor McGonagall.” Neville suggested.

“Yes.” Hal pointed a finger at him, nodding. “Also, we should stop Quirrell, like, now.”

“You don’t even know if he _did_ go after what the dog is guarding!” Hermione tried to reason.

“Okay, so let’s go check.” Hal replied, undeterred. “Then we can decide who goes after him and who goes to get teachers.”

He darted up the stairs, stopping only to put his shoe back on, shrink his bag and stuff it in the pocket of his robe. He ignored the book.

The rest of them followed him – Hermione trying to tell him it was rash and irresponsible and Neville whimpering vaguely, but they followed anyway. They quickly reached the forbidden corridor on the third floor – the stairs were very compliant with where they wanted to go, for once – and found the door ajar, a rumbling sound within.

Hal looked at Anthony, the two of them clearly remembering the first time they’d come face to face with the Cerberus and not all that eager to repeat the experience.

It was Rolf that slipped through and pushed the door open.

The dog was bloody massive, and even though it was apparently asleep, Draco felt the blood drain from his face.

“Likes music.” Hal murmured, looking at the harp that had apparently been enchanted to play, presumably to have this soporific effect on the beast.

Draco met his eyes, and they both cracked up, only laughing briefly as Hermione smacked the back of Hal’s head.

“Be quiet!” She hissed.

“Look.” Anthony pointed down.

There was an open trap door between the giant dog paws, leading to darkness.

“Quirrell.” Hal assessed. “He’s definitely gone in.”

“We need to get adults.” Hermione insisted.

“They’ll be too late.” Hal said.

“Hal, don’t be ridiculous!” She whispered furiously. “We have no idea what’s going on, you’re not going to just go after him!”

“We know he’s up to no good!” Hal insisted. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Guys.” Ron tried to step in.

“We don’t know what’s in there.” Hermione continued. “And if he’s really trying to harm you?”

“You could get seriously hurt.” Neville agreed.

“We could get expelled!” Hermione added, which sounded a lot more significant to her.

“Guys!” Ron said a bit more forcefully. “There’s no more music.”

They all turned around, looking dumbly at the now silent harp.

“Oh, shit.” Anthony commented as all three of the dog’s heads started to stir.

* *

*

Hal wasn’t entirely sure how they’d all ended up lying on what felt like a shrubbery, looking up at a small square of light up ahead. Well, all but Rolf. Hal thought that was how they’d ended up there. Anthony’s cousin had said something like “I can play the flute” and pushed them all into the gaping trap door, which was closer than the exit out of the room. Or, at least, not currently barred by a lot of big fangs. Either way – they had not been eaten by a giant dog, which Hal would count as a small victory.

“Everyone okay?” He called out in the darkness.

Various groans from his friends, and muttered admonitions from Hermione, told him everyone was accounted for.

“Right, well.” Hal determined. “Onwards.”

“We can still go back up.” Hermione pointed out.

“I think I’ll take my chances with Quirrell rather than that dog.” Ron piped up.

“Hey, my cousin is up there.” Anthony chastised. After a short pause, he added. “He’ll be fine, though. Bet he’s loving it. Channelling his grandfather’s energy or something.”

“Harry-” Hermione’s use of his full name always announced a lecture, but Hal cut her off.

“Hermione.” He snipped back. “Whatever is in there, Quirrell made sure Dumbledore was away before he went after it, so he’s not meant to have it.”

“Why do you have to make it our problem?” She argued. “We’re children!”

“He basically pushed me down the stairs!” Hal reminded her. “Sorry if it feels a little personal!”

“Guys.” Ron intervened again, and since last time he had used that voice, they were about to get their heads bitten off by a giant dog, they all fell quiet and turned to him.

And realised promptly that the ‘shrubbery’ was moving, and perniciously wrapping vines around their legs and arms. Neville had one crawling up his torso, and Hal could see a dark shadow on Draco’s neck. Ron was wriggling anxiously, and as they tried to pull free, Hal realised it only made the plant grip them stronger.

“This is going well.” Anthony said sardonically.

They all struggled for a minute, only making things worse.

“Don’t move.” Neville suddenly said.

“Don’t move?” Draco snapped. “Sure, I’ll just lie here and die then!”

To be fair to him, he did seem to be in the direst position of them all. Hal noted his breath was short, and the vine around his neck looked too tight for comfort.

“It’s a Devil’s Snare.” Neville exposed calmly. “It crushes you quicker if you struggle.”

“It doesn’t like light!” Hermione added animatedly. “Someone cast a Lumos!”

Draco’s strangled voice still managed to be sarky as he mumbled something about being a little tied up, but Neville seemed to manage to get one of his hands free, and shouted the spell. The effect was immediate, the plant… shrieking? and shrivelling back to the sides of the room.

“Thanks, Nev.” Hal smiled at him, rather impressed.

Anthony clapped him on the back, beaming, Hermione told him _Well done_ , and Ron let out a sigh.

“Well, that was fun.” He commented.

Draco was rubbing at his neck, looking unamused, but he was the one to point at the door at the other side of the room – the one and only door in the room.

“Through here, I guess.”

There was rustling all around them, and Hal cast another _Lumos_ to help Neville, who was doing his best point his wand left and right to keep the vines of the Snare at bay. It was clearly looking for an opening to grab them again.

“Go.” Neville gave a small jerk of his head towards the door. “I’ll hold it off.”

Ron grumbled something that sounded like _Are we really doing this_ , but Hal could tell the thrill of the adventure was starting to gain on all of them, as the rest of his friends – even Hermione – headed towards the door in the path Neville’s and Hal’s lights were clearing for them. Not that there was any other way than onwards.

They came through to the next room, which was filled with giant dragonflies. At least, that was what it looked like – upon closer inspection…

“They’re keys.” Anthony noted.

“Look.” Draco added. “A broomstick.”

“Convenient.” Hal commented.

“Locked.” Ron called from the other side of the room, having tried the door.

“What a shock.” Draco drawled. But he looked up, clearly scanning the fluttering keys for the one they needed. “Here.” He pointed as he spotted it. “Matches the lock. Broken wing.”

Anthony snorted loudly, and he shook his head when they all turned to him with some confusion.

“Sorry, I was just imagining Quirrell on that broom, chasing after the thing.”

“Well, he caught it and went through.” Hal surmised. “So let’s get on.”

He grabbed the broom, and flew right up to where Draco had spotted the key. His Seeker instincts kicking in, he kept his eyes on it even as it zipped left and right, and it didn’t take him much time till he was closing his hand around it.

“Nice one.” Ron nodded appreciatively as he landed back among his friends.

Hal dismounted the broom, and gave it a considering look.

“One of us should use this.” He thought. “Get Neville, fly back to the hatch. Get the teachers.”

“That’s a good idea.” Hermione nodded.

“Ron, Draco, you’re the best flyers.” Anthony designated.

It seemed to be a given Hal would be going forward.

“I’ll go.” Draco volunteered. “I’ll try to find Severus again, or get whoever’s around.”

He took the broom off Hal’s hands, who gave his arm a squeeze.

“Be safe.” He told him.

“Speak for yourself.” Draco retorted with a cautious smile.

“See you on the other side.” Hal grinned.

“Keep the idiot safe, will you?” Draco turned to Anthony and Hermione.

Ron was already at the other end, trying the key he’d grabbed off Hal. Hermione patted Draco’s arm in reassurance, and he was off.

The rest of them headed to the next room, as Ron open the door to… a giant chess set. They frowned and tried walking across, only to have their path barred by the tall pieces.

“I think we have to play the game.” Ron guessed. “Win it, I’d wager.”

“Oh, come on.” Hal groaned. “What is this, Crackerjack?”

“It does feel like it’s probably not the most efficient way to protect something valuable.” Anthony mused.

“To be fair.” Ron pointed out. “There was a giant three-headed dog at the door. Maybe the rest was a bit of an afterthought.”

“A giant three-headed dog that falls asleep when you play it music.” Hal retorted. “Not exactly fool-proof, is it.”

“Neither is this, right, Ron?” Anthony asked.

He had gotten his arse handed to him the one (and only) time he’d played chess against Ron, and it wasn’t because he was bad – Anthony was clever, and could hold his own at chess. Ron was just particularly good.

“Right.” Ron nodded with determination.

He spent five minutes trying to direct the pieces, until he moved into a square already occupied, and the piece moved off to leave him take its place. For another few minutes, he tried to start the game with no success.

“I think you all have to be pieces.” He surmised eventually.

Sure enough, as soon as Ron directed them each to a spot on the board, fires lit up on each side to indicate the game was ready to start. Ron actually cracked his knuckles, and then he started playing.

There was nothing the rest of them could do but follow his directions, and be in awe, really.

It didn’t take too long, ten minutes maybe, until Ron swore under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked. For all her brilliance, she didn’t grasp chess any better than Hal did.

“No, nothing, we win.” Ron said. “But I have to lose the knight.”

“Mate.” Anthony spoke out. “You’re the knight.”

“I know.” Ron said sombrely.

“This is Wizard chess.” Anthony added.

“I know!” Ron repeated. “There’s no other way.”

“Ron…”

“We’ve come this far.” Ron interrupted Hal. “What would be the point in turning back now? You’re right, Hal. Whatever Quirrell is after, whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good if he’d go as far as trying to kill an eleven year-old boy.”

“Twice.” Anthony supplemented.

“Potentially, yeah.” Ron nodded. “So you go on. I’ll be fine.”

Before any of them could say anything else, he directed the knight to take the opposite king. They all watched in horror as he was knocked off his horse, but as the defeated piece drop its sword, his voice rose out of the rubble.

“I’m okay.” He groaned. “Go!”

The door on the other side as opened, and Hal, Anthony and Hermione headed for it. Well, Hal and Anthony headed for it, and Hal grabbed Hermione’s wrist to pull her along. He didn’t know what else was waiting for them, but he knew she was their best chance of knowing what to do. She didn’t seem to mind, whoever was drawing more reassurance from the contact.

In the next room, there was a troll, already taken care off on the floor – but Anthony pointed his wand at it regardless.

“Ha, I know what to do with the likes of you.” He told the unconscious beast. “Go.” He nodded towards the door. “I’ll distract it if it wakes up.”

Hal and Hermione skirted alongside the wall, keeping as far away to the troll as the small room allowed, while Anthony remained where it could see the thing’s face. When they reached the door, the handle gave immediately.

“It’s open.” Hal called back.

“Carry on through, lock it behind you.” Anthony said. “I’ll do the same this side, and I’ll go back to check if Ron’s alright. Do _not_ do anything reckless, alright?”

Hermione scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s not what we’re already doing here.” She rolled her eyes.

“Draco, Nev and Rolf will be getting backup.” Hal reminded her. “We might as well carry on and slow him down. It’s not like he can Apparate out.”

“No, he can only try to kill you again.” Hermione said drily.

“Ah, so you agree that-”

“Now is not the time.” She snapped. “Come on.”

She grabbed him this time, and with a parting nod towards Anthony, Hal followed her through the next door.

* *

*

Hermione was _not_ , impressed. Boys were reckless, she had always known that, and once it had become clear Hal was unlikely to walk away or wait for teachers to be found, and the others were compelled enough by his sudden show of leadership (and she had to admit, it was somewhat magnetic) to follow him blind, she had thought the best thing to do was come along and at least see if she could do something to ensure the band of _idiots_ didn’t get themselves killed.

But as they went through the rooms, she had become angered for a whole different reason. Although she doubted anyone else had understood the reference, she thought Hal hadn’t be far off when he’d mentioned Crackerjack. A big bad dog tricked with music, a – admittedly murderous – plant you learnt about in first year Herbology, ‘catch the key’ with a broomstick conveniently supplied, chess? It was like being in a game show for children. The only thing that was half a threat was the mountain troll, and even then, even if it had been awake, Hal, Anthony and Draco had already faced one before and had come out unscathed. Nothing about those “trials” would stop a grown wizard, let alone a dark one, if that was what Quirrell turned out to be.

So Hermione had become convinced they were _meant_ to be here. Maybe not all of them, but she had a strong sense that it was all either a lure or a test for Hal, specifically. She had called him paranoid, but things were adding up, and it was entirely possible Quirrell _did_ come personally after him. Twice. And the staircase leading them up here before? And Dumbledore randomly dropping by his bedside to talk to him? The mysterious gift of a freaking _invisibility cloak_ at Christmas? All piled up on the boy who was one of the most famous wizards alive, it seemed too much to be a simple coincidence.

She knew Hal had not _done_ anything to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But he had survived a curse that nobody else had ever survived. She couldn’t be the only one wondering if he had special powers, if his magic was somehow stronger, or different, to that of any other known wizard since maybe Merlin himself, who had been reputed to be immortal. Some rumours said he was still around. Some rumours said he was reincarnated in a certain Boy Who Lived.

Hermione did not think Hal was Merlin reincarnated. But she did think there was something special about him.

“Hermione?” Hal’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

They had gone through the door to a small room, at the centre of which stood a table covered in vials, and a roll of parchment. Hermione had taken it upon herself to solve the riddle, and she had gotten distracted thinking it was just another ‘challenge’ that was conspicuously suited to Hal and his friends’ knowledge and abilities.

“This one to go forward.” She pointed. “This one to go back.”

She also noticed, with annoyance, that there was only enough in each vial for one of them to go on, and one to go back. There was no doubt in her mind which was meant for whom. As much as she had been berating him so far for his strong-headedness…

“I think you’re meant to be there.” She blurted out.

“Yeah.” Hal nodded calmly, showing more perceptiveness than she had given him credit for. “I got that impression too.”

She took a deep breath, let it out, looking at him gravely.

“So what do you want to do?” She asked.

“I want to know what’s going on.” Hal said, and it didn’t sound like a rash, spur-of-the-moment decision. He’d clearly thought about it. “I know I might be pushing my luck, but…” He shook his head with a frown. “My magic has protected me so far. I want to know what’s going on.” He repeated.

“Just…” Hermione sighed, and squeezed his wrist. “We’ll be right back with teachers, okay? Stay hidden if you can, and if he attack you, you _run_.”

“Yes, mom.” Hal teased.

She gave him a stern look, and shook her head with a sigh. “This is ridiculous. We’re _twelve_. You’re not even that yet!”

“Hey, don’t change your mind on me now.” Hal nudged her. “I know it’s a risk. But… I feel like I need to do this.”

She sighed again. “Well, I suppose there’s a reason why you’re a Gryffindor.” She said.

She grabbed the two potions she had identified as the right one, and tucked one into Hal’s hand.

“Don’t provoke him. Duck if he gets his wand out. Don’t die. We’ll be right back.”

* *

*

_How is this my life_ , Hal briefly thought (not for the first time since he’d been at Hogwarts) as Hermione casually advised him not to die, and as he drunk a small potion to walk through flames and go against a grown wizard who may or may not want to kill him, to stop him from stealing something they had no idea what it even was. Probably, if they hadn’t ready the whole thing entirely wrong.

Nonetheless, he honestly didn’t feel he was being completely reckless. Well, he was being mostly reckless, but there were a few things that made him confident he wasn’t just walking to his certain death. It wasn’t that he was underestimating Quirrell, even though he didn’t seem very threatening, but Hal had an inkling the helpless stuttering professor act was, well, an act. But he had brought this to Dumbledore, and while he didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him, he was still in charge of hundreds of children, and one of the greatest wizards alive, and Hal thought maybe, somehow, he was keeping an eye on him. He certainly had shown an interest.

And the castle, whether it had its own magical will or obeyed the schemes of its headmaster, certainly felt like it had wanted him to be there – the stairs leading them here, doors that were either open or barely needed you to think the spell to open them, these ridiculous challenges… Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it felt unlikely he would have gotten that far if he was going to just, get a curse thrown in his face by an angry little man and die. So he drunk the potion, and he walked through the flames, and he looked at his new surroundings.

The room was larger than any of the previous ones, and empty but for a large mirror, so Hal’s gaze could only be drawn to it. He recognised it instantly, and his heart did a little summersault as he couldn’t help but think _My family’s in there_. Quirrell was standing in front of it – _Get away from them!_ Hal almost shouted, but the man spun around as he entered, and snarled before Hal could speak.

“Potter.” He spat out. “Come to play hero? What does it take to be rid of you?”

Hal bit back a retort, heeding Hermione’s warning not to provoke him. Instead he tried to take stock of the situation. He looked around again – though keeping an eye on Quirrell – but there was nothing, the room was completely bare. What was the dog guarding, then? What was Quirrell here to steal? The mirror? Seemed a bit cumbersome to take with you.

_Use him_.

Hal’s eyes snapped back to Quirrell, who clearly hadn’t spoken, because he looked about as startled as Hal upon hearing the hissing voice.

_Use the boy._ It came again, and Hal knew for sure he hadn’t imagined it the first time. It was chilling, a barely human whisper, but the words themselves could turn out to be a good thing. If he had a use, he wouldn’t be disposed of as quickly as possible.

“Potter!” Quirrell yapped. “Come here.”

Hal realised that the man was scared. Whoever the voice belonged to, wherever it came from, that was who was pulling the strings, and Quirrell was scared of them. It gave him the nerve to simply give the man an unimpressed look.

“Or?”

He wasn’t provoking him, Hal reasoned to himself. He was simply biding his time, until reinforcement arrived. This has been the point after all, to slow Quirrell down. Even though from here, it looked like he had stalled all by himself.

“Or I’ll-” Quirrell started, but the hissing voice interrupted.

_Let me speak to him._

Okay, that part maybe wasn’t so good, Hal thought. He took a small step back, waiting to see someone appear from somewhere or other. He was tempted to draw out his wand, but what good would it do him? He didn’t know any duelling spells, not even protection spells. He hoped, if push came to shove, he’d be able to instinctively react, the same way he had shielded himself and Draco against the troll, the same way he’d cushioned his fall down the starts.

Nobody appeared. Instead, Quirrell raised trembling hands to his head, and started unravelling his turban. When he was done, he turned around, and Hal’s body seized in horror, because there was _a face_ in the back of his head. There was a disgusting, flat, slits-for-a-nose, shrivelled face on the man’s skull and it was _revolting_.

“What the fuck is that!” Hal couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“Harry Potter.” The flat face spoke in that same hissing voice that has sounded before, and ew, gross, gross, gross, was all Hal could think, because it truly was even worse when that thing moved.

Then, suddenly with complete clarity, Hal knew what, or rather who, was in front of him. _We meet again_ , he almost expected the disgusting face to say in its best villain voice, but he didn’t need that to abruptly be keenly aware that he was looking at the man ( _thing_ ) who had killed his parents, and disintegrated himself in the process of trying to kill him too. He had heard rumours that the rebounding spell hadn’t entirely killed Voldemort – guess those had been right.

“You have done this.” The raspy sound rose again. “Now you will help me return to my former glory.”

“Yeah, fat chance.” Hal heard himself say. _Don’t provoke him!_ His inner Hermione shrieked.

But that thing didn’t have hands, let alone a wand, and in the meantime, Quirrell’s back was turned, so it took something out of the whole threatening situation, and Hal couldn’t quite think straight as his mind was reeling to grasp the surreal turn of events that was somehow reality.

“Grab him!” Voldemort hissed angrily – he too must have realised he didn’t have hands.

This time, Hal did draw out his wand, the words bringing him back to that time they’d played Wizard “It”. It was like regular It, except spells were allowed, and it made him remember he may not know duelling and protecting spells, but he knew his fair share of jinxes.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” He cast.

He missed as Quirrell diverted the spell with a slash of his wand, and raised it towards him – but he hesitated as his parasite hissed at him to _not kill the boy, we need him to get the stone_ , and Hal took that opportunity to cast a _Tarantallegra_ , which Fred and George had taught him and that was frankly hilarious at the best of times.

This one hit home, and Quirrell danced uncontrollably for, sadly, only a few seconds before he cast something to end the spell, and with an angry snarl, barked _Expelliarmus_ , and Hal watched helplessly as his wand flew off his hand and into the teacher’s extended one. Shit, he thought.

“Come here, Potter.” Quirrell ordered anew, wand pointed at Hal’s face. “Or I will _make_ you.”

Hal figured he still was going to get killed, at least not right away if they “needed him to get the stone”, whatever that meant, but he could very well be made to be in a lot of pain, he was sure there was a wizard equivalent of the classic bullet in the kneecap you saw in films, so he took a cautious step forward. Slowly. His best plan was still time-wasting.

It didn’t take him all that long – he did speed up a little when it looked like Quirrell was about to lose his patience – before he was standing in front of the mirror. He was relieved to see it didn’t reflect his would-have-been family. He’d have loved to see them again, and it would have been a great comfort, but he hated the idea of Quirrell, of fucking _Voldemort_ having eyes on them.

So, whatever the mirror was or did, it was changeable. Personal, maybe, showing people their parallel realities?

“What do you see?” Quirrell asked.

“My reflection, it’s a mirror.” Hal said drily.

He didn’t think sass would put him in more trouble than he currently was. Probably? Both Quirrell and Voldemort seemed to have more pressing obsessions than asking him to watch his tone.

“This mirror shows your deepest desires.” Quirrell conveniently explained. “I see myself giving my master the stone, I see him in glory, rewarding me for my service…” He lost himself for a moment, looking dazedly at the pane, then seemed to remember Hal was there. “What do you see?” He pressed.

“My family.” Hal said quietly, not stretching too far, although he still could only see himself. The creepy wizard didn’t have a reflection there, actually, he noticed. “You know, the one you killed.” He added for Voldemort’s benefit.

A hiss answered him. “He’s lying.”

He was, actually, more so than he’d thought, Hal realised as his reflection _winked at him_ , what the hell, and put a hand in his pocket. Mirror-Hal pulled out a blood red stone, rubbed his thumb against it, put it back. Real-Hal then felt the small weight and bulge of it in his pocket, and realised he now had what the other wanted.

Which was not good. He figured now was the time to run. With a bit of luck, the potion would still be in effect for him to walk back through the flames, if not maybe _Aguamenti_ would work? Cross that bridge – he bolted.

“ _GET HIM!”_ Voldemort’s face shrieked.

Unfortunately, the element of surprise and Hal’s speed wasn’t enough for him to cover enough distance before Quirrell’s longer legs gave him back the advantage, and although he escaped his grasp the first time he tried to grab him, he tripped and fell on his face on the steps leading back up to the way out, and the older man was on him immediately.

Then something odd happened, because as Quirrell grabbed his wrist to stop him from throwing punches (Hal had resorted to raw instincts, which were to kick, hit and struggle), he snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned. No, he _had_ been burned – Hal saw blisters already forming on his hands, and the same thing happened when the man put a hand on him again, trying to go for his pockets.

“What is- I can’t- Master!”

While Quirrell panicked, Hal pressed his advantage, and palms up, pushed the man’s face right out of his way. Quirrell screamed, blisters erupting all over his face, and Hal wasted no time scrambling to his feet. But another, higher and shriller sound joined the screams – the small part of Hal’s brain that wasn’t in fight or flight mode was reminded of the Ringwraiths from the _Lord of the Rings_ film – and a black thick smoke escaped the professor’s body with enough force to knock Hal back down.

It reached him, and the sound, inhuman and bloodcurdling, increased in intensity as Hal’s scar started to hurt so much he thought his head was going to burst. Blinded by the pain, unable to move or breathe, the air saturated with screams, he only vaguely saw Quirrell convulsing on the stone steps, and the black smoke shrivelling back on itself, before he passed out.


	14. June (part 2)

Draco had wasted no time going back through the door with the broom as the others carried on forward. He found Neville still casting _Lumos_ around the room to keep the Devil’s Snare away, and he didn’t hide his relief when he spotted Draco with his own ray of light.

“Hop on.”

Draco threw a leg over the broom when he reached him, and waited for the other boy’s arms to be securely clasped around his waist before he kicked the ground, moving away from the bloody plant swiftly. He only slowed down right up to the trap door, listening for any sound of trouble, but all he could hear was a soft flute tune, so he flew them through.

Rolf was sat cross-legged, looking absolutely serene, still playing the flute to the ginormous – and thankfully asleep – Cerberus. He acknowledged them by widening his eyes, but he didn’t stop playing.

“We need to get teachers.” Draco told him.

Rolf nodded, and tilted his head to the door in body language for “Go”, so Draco gave him a curt nod, and put the broom down by his feet.

“Use that or throw it down if anyone else is trying to come back up.” He said. “We’ll be as quick as possible.”

Rolf nodded again, apparently unbothered, and Draco and Neville ran out the door and along the corridor, down the stairs that were thankfully there. They paused on the second floor, and Draco turned to Neville.

“I’ll try Sev again.” He told him. “See if you can fine McGonagall.”

Neville readily agreed, and they split up, each running off in a different direction.

Draco was just about to head off to the dungeons, when he spotted his godfather walking (storming) back from the direction of the main entrance.

“Sev!” He called, feeling relief flood him.

“Draco?” The man frowned. “Is everything alright?”

“Quirrell tried to kill Hal again.” Draco spilled out, seeing the confusion his words caused on Sev’s face. “The he went after whatever the dog is guarding, and it couldn’t be good, so we went after him, and I came back out to find you, and Neville is going to, but the others are…”

“Slow down.” Severus reached him and grabbed his arm, both managing to check he was unharmed and to give him a grounding little shake. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a three-headed dog on the third floor.” Draco started again.

It wasn’t much for clarification, but somehow that seemed to be enough for Sev to put the pieces back together and start rushing in the direction Draco had just come from. Draco scurried after him.

“You got past the dog?” The man asked without slowing down to even turn towards him. “How?”

“Music.” Draco dropped between two breaths. He could feel the stitch forming under his ribs.

Severus swore under his breath. “Who’s in there?” He asked next.

“Hal, Anthony, Ron and Hermione.” Draco said. “And Rolf, with the dog. Neville’s gone to get Mc- Professor McGonagall.”

“You bloody fools.” Severus snarled, but Draco knew him well enough to hear that there was more worry than anger in his voice.

They quickly reached the third floor again, and Sev visibly recoiled for a second at the sight of the dog, and relaxed when he saw it was asleep. In one look, he took in Rolf playing the flute and the sleeping dog, and cast a quick spell at the harp so it would take over, relieving the boy. He sighed as he stopped, and cautiously unfolded himself from the floor.

“I’ve just-” He started, but was interrupted as Ron and Anthony emerged from the trap door on the broom, and he simply pointed at them. “Yeah, that.”

Both boys landed and wobbled off the broom, eyeing the dog warily, and the teacher sheepishly. Ron seemed to be limping, and he was covered in plaster dust.

“What have you done?” Severus urged them.

“Put a dog to sleep, fought a plant with light, caught a winged key, played some chess, and gone past a sleeping troll.” Anthony listed. “Harry and Hermione carried on.”

Severus muttered something to himself, Draco only caught the words _no doubt_ , _Miss Granger_ and _solve_.

There was a rush of footsteps behind them, and Neville appeared with McGonagall in tow.

“Severus.” She addressed him, looking bewildered. “Mister Longbottom made very little sense, what on earth…”

“Minerva.” Severus interrupted her. “We need to contact Albus for him to return right away. I fear what he suspected is true – Quirinus has gone after the stone, and we know it isn’t for himself.”

“Merlin.” She breathed. Then she gestured around her. “The children-”

“Take this lot out of here.” Severus spoke over her again. “Miss Granger and Mister Potter are still down there. I will go.”

She nodded in understanding and agreement, and waved her arms at the boys, looking stern again.

“Come along, all of you, out of here, out!”

Draco did not have a chance to argue, before he and the others were pushed out of the room, as Severus disappeared inside the trap door.

* *

*

Severus had suspected Quirrell would go after the stone, he hadn’t exactly been subtle all year, and it had been a tricky game to play, dealing with this blubbering idiot while being keenly aware that every word he said came back to the Dark Lord’s ears. He had to maintain his cover, do his part as a double agent, while stalling the man. Albus had only given him two instructions: keep an eye on the Potter boy, and don’t let Quirinus get his hands on the stone.

Now, conveniently, it seemed he was going to have to do both at the same time, same place. How considerate of Mister Potter to go stick himself in a dangerous situation so Severus wouldn’t have to worry about where he was while the Dark Lord got closer to a chance at recovering his former strength.

He wanted to be only angry at the boy, but in truth, he couldn’t help but worry – he _had_ pledged to keep him safe after all, and while the brat looked every bit like James Bloody Potter, he also very much had Lily’s eyes, and he was more like her than Severus originally had assumed or suspected. And, and he supposed that counted for something, he was Draco’s friend.

So yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Severus Snape was worried about the current wellbeing of Harry Potter. It had been unclear how Quirrell was in contact with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but if Albus’ theory (one he had formulated as the year went by and they observed the man) was correct, Harry could very well be facing the Dark Lord himself, by way of the Defence teacher.

He went past Pomona’s Snare easily, and refused to bother with the keys in favour of blasting the door off its hinges. A shriek answered him, and he found Miss Granger a few steps away into the next room, arms over her head clearly in reaction to the deflagration.

“Professor Snape!” She exclaimed when she peeked out again. “Oh, professor, we were going to come and get you, and Hal, Harry-”

“You’re not in trouble right now, Miss Granger.” Severus told her to shut her up.

He considered sending her back, but there were potentially berserk keys, a murderous plant, and three giant dog heads that may or may not stay asleep, and she was just a little girl, he thought considering the witch in front of him. Ahead, violent enchanted chess pieces and a mountain troll. He couldn’t leave her standing here either.

“Stay behind me.” He resigned himself. “Don’t get in my way, don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes, sir.” She obeyed in a small voice, and followed when he headed out again. The incantation Minerva had shared with him caused the chess pieces to stand down, and whatever Quirrell had done to the troll (Severus did not think it had been the kids, though it wouldn’t bloody surprise him at this point) had been efficient, because it was still out cold. As for the potions, they were a nice touch if he did say so himself, but again, a simple spell of his own devise could undo the effect of the flames.

He checked the young witch was safely behind him, before pushing open the door to the last chamber. He knew immediately they were too late – not necessarily in a morbid way, but the battle, if there had been one, had already been fought. Harry Potter was lying not far from the door unconscious, and all that was left of Quirrell (and the entity he supposedly had been hosting) was singed purple fabric and black charcoal-like dust.

Granger had rushed to Potter’s side before Severus could finish thinking _What in the name of everything magical happened here_ , and surprisingly, rather than shaking him and urging him to wake up, which was the unexplainable instinct of a lot of people, she kept her cool and checked his pulse. Her relieved sigh told Severus the boy was alive, and he conjured a stretcher to lift him up the floor.

He nudged the charred remains of what had been Quirrell with this foot, and found two wands, his own and presumably Potter’s, which he bent to pick up and pocketed. There was nothing else in the room, at first glance at least, but the damn mirror – Albus had clearly thought it was _so_ clever, even as he refused to share the secret of how it was meant to keep the stone safe exactly. Personally, Severus hated that thing. He had only once caught a glimpse of what the mirror would show to him, and he was _not_ going to dwell on that image, because if that was his deepest desire, it was pathetic.

“Let’s go.” He told the girl, taking the lead again to ward off any dangers ahead, waving his wand so the stretcher carrying Potter would follow between them.

They moved through the rooms easily once more, and by the time Severus had levitated them through the hatch, Albus was casually waiting for them.

“You can take it from there, Miss Granger.” Snape told her. “Take Mister Potter to the infirmary, and tell Mrs Pomfrey the headmaster and myself will be right there. A word, Headmaster.” He added, turning to Dumbledore.

“Of course.” The old wizard replied.

Severus waited until the students were out of earshot before she turned to glare at the headmaster.

“The boy could have been killed.” He snarled.

“But he didn’t.” Dumbledore said, infuriatingly calm.

“You wanted this to happen.” He accused.

“Yes.” Dumbledore didn’t bother denying. “You know the prophecy, Severus. You know the part Harry will have to play in defeating the dark side – this time for good.”

“That doesn’t make him your puppet.”

Severus wanted to hit him, sometimes. Often. Maybe all the time.

“What was your plan here, throw him in and hope for the best? You cannot send an eleven year-old without a hint of a warning to face off… what even was that, by the way? There is nothing left of Quirrell down there. Potter couldn’t have done that.”

“I am afraid poor Quirinus was always going to end up this way.” Dumbledore exposed. “Hosting Voldemort’s soul in such a manner was destroying him from the inside. Harry was merely the… catalyst, for his final combustion. It seems Lily’s protection is still holding strong in him.”

Severus did not miss the slight inflection the older wizard put on Lily’s name, and he hated him for it. He did not need reminding of the power that name held over him, he did not need reminding that he, too, was a puppet. Only at least, he was a grown man, and he had chosen it.

“Whatever Potter’s part in this war is meant to be.” He concluded darkly. “He is too young. The war hasn’t broken out again yet.” There was no doubt for either of them that it would, eventually. “Leave him out of it.”

“You have become very protective of the boy, Severus.” Dumbledore noted.

Severus decided not to grace that with an answer, and he stormed off instead. He caught the first portrait he saw, and told it to inform Minerva in the Gryffindor common room – he had no doubt this would be where she’d have taken the kids – that the children were safe, and on their way to the hospital wing. For his part, in spite of what he had told Miss Granger, he felt like he had seen, heard and thought enough of Potter for the rest of the year, and he retreated to the dungeons.

* *

*

When Hal came to, it was to the sound of worried whispers, and unfortunately still to a punishing headache. As his eyes fluttered open, he also realised both his hands were being held, as whoever was holding them reacted to his waking up. The whispers went from worried to excited, relieved.

“Oh thank Merlin.” Said a voice that Hal’s identified as being Ron’s.

He fully opened his eyes, helped in the process by someone – Neville, once he could see – placing his glasses on his face. Ron was indeed at the foot of the bed, peering at him anxiously. On each of his sides were the rest of this friends, Hermione holding one of his hands, and Draco the other. A few feet away, Mrs Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were standing talking quietly, and they stopped and came nearer as they heard the others make happy noises.

“Mister Potter, you are awake.” McGonagall stated.

“Looks that way.” Hal replied, blinking a few times. “Is everyone okay?”

“Is everyone- Hal, you’re the one who almost got killed!” Hermione berated him. Her concern clearly was already fading in front of the opportunity to give him a lecture.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked with more evident worry.

“Everyone move aside.” Mrs Pomfrey intervened before Hal could answer.

She waved her wand all over him, no doubt casting diagnosis spells, and seemed more or less satisfied with the readings.

“Some rest is what you need.” She determined. “Your body cannot take much more stress.”

Hal did not feel particularly stressed, but he assumed she meant that in a medical sense. McGonagall came nearer, in the space vacated by his friends as Pomfrey shooed them away, in spite of their protests – except for Ron, who hobbled to his own bed, his broken leg needing some rest too, though magically mended.

“Your aunt has been informed.” The professor told Hal. “She has been invited to visit you, should she wish to.”

“Oh.” Now that the idea had been introduced, Hal suddenly felt very much like he wanted a hug. “She’ll be worried.” He thought out loud.

“So should she be.” McGonagall retorted sharply. “You were very reckless, Mister Potter. You are lucky neither you nor any of your friends were more seriously hurt.”

“Yes, professor.”

Hal thought it would be wise to look contrite. He didn’t need to share with her his suspicions that it was all a great ploy and he was somehow being watched over so that nothing, let’s say permanent, would happen to him.

“Get some rest.” She said with a long suffering sigh.

She walked away, only to be replaced almost immediately by Dumbledore, who had probably been politely waiting for her to be done.

“Hello, Harry.” The headmaster sat down. “I just wanted to see you were alright. And to say congratulations, for how you handled everything tonight.”

“Thanks.” Hal said noncommittally, feeling his eyes narrow.

The comment only cemented his conviction that Dumbledore had been wise to how things would potentially turn out, that him going after Quirrell and coming face to face with Voldemort had been part of some kind of plan.

“You must have many questions.” The old wizard said encouragingly.

“What was it supposed to achieve, me getting the stone out of the mirror?” Hal challenged.

Dumbledore looked a little started, only for a split second, as if he hadn’t been expecting Hal to question him on that straight off the bat.

“I believe the mirror only responded to the enchantment it was placed under, to protect the stone.” The headmaster exposed. “A little twist on its original magic. It is a very special mirror, you know. It shows you what your heart most deeply desires.”

Hal briefly wondered what it said about him that he saw a big, loving family, with his parents still alive. He guessed at least it said something better than if he had seen himself covered in fame and riches. Which, come to think of it, he already was. Didn’t feel so desirable. Dumbledore continued, stopping his thoughts from spiralling.

“See, nobody who wanted to _use_ the stone could obtain it. Only someone who wanted it, not for their own selfish use, could.”

“Okay.” Hal frowned. “But then it was safe, and it became a lot easier to take it from _me_ , so that was some rather big flaw in that enchantment.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

There was a pause, and when it became clear Hal wasn’t asking the question Dumbledore wanted him to ask, the old wizard asked it for him.

“Would you like to know why Professor Quirrell couldn’t touch you?” He probed.

Hal shrugged. “I suppose it wasn’t a coincidence that he was possessed by Voldemort, who already failed to kill me once. Not that this particular event has been clarified.”

He looked up to the headmaster, challenging him to give him an explanation.

“We may never know for sure what happened that night.” Was the, as per usual cryptic, answer. “But there is old, old magic that this world has forgotten about, that may have been at play. Blood magic. You see, when your father and mother gave their life to protect you, they created a barrier so strong that Death could not cross it. Voldemort’s spell met this protection made of your mother’s love, and it rebounded against it.”

“Blood magic.” Hal repeated cautiously.

“There are many forms of magic, Harry.” Dumbledore said. “Modern magic is channelled into wands and spells, but there are older energies that still exist. They are simply no longer known, no longer in use. The instinctive magic of children is one of them, rooted deep in our magical cores – we lose our access to it as we grow out of our innocence.” He gave Hal a gentle smile. “We could talk about different sources of magic and their history for hours.” He cut it short. “I will spare you for now – I have to agree with Mrs Pomfrey, you need your rest.”

In fact, Hal realised as the man stopped talking that he was exhausted.

“But you were right.” Dumbledore added. “The same protection spell your mother unknowingly casted, with her whole core, when she died for you…” (Hal forced himself not to flinch, but he’d very much appreciate if the old man stopped mentioning how his parents _died for him_ , he knew, thank you) “…is still rooted within you, protecting you from the same evil it was intended against. That is why Quirrell, hosting Voldemort’s soul, could not touch you. That is why you will always be safe under your aunt’s roof.”

Hal’s throat tightened at the words, and he suddenly felt very homesick.

“I will let you rest.” The headmaster got to his feet, and Hal wasn’t about to hold him back.

* *

*

In spite of how drained he had felt, Hal had had a fretful night, and he felt like he’d only finally gotten off to sleep when it was already getting light outside. By the time he woke up again, it was the middle of the day – going by the sunlight through the windows – and his aunt was by his bedside. She lit up when he stirred.

“There you are.” She smiled at him. “I was starting to worry.” Clearly an understatement, as she must have been fully worrying since the minute she’d heard from the school.

Hal opened his arms before he even reached for his glasses, and she immediately cradled him in hers. He stayed like this for a long time, breathing her in, waiting to no longer be overwhelmed by the feeling of being so young, and so little, and simply wanting his mom. When he was quite confident he wasn’t going to cry, he moved back. As he put his glasses on, he noticed an absolute mountain of cards and treats on the bedside table, and frowned.

“Who are these from?”

“Your friends.” Petunia answered. “And some people who seemed to only want an excuse to be nosy.”

“They all came by this morning?” Hal asked.

He peered behind his aunt, and could only see an empty bed through the gap in the curtains, so Ron must have gone.

“This morning and all of yesterday.” She said. “You’ve had a long sleep.”

“Oh.” He blinked. No wonder he felt more rested than the few hours he thought he’d slept. “I’m sorry.” He felt like he needed to add.

She petted his hair, and he could tell he wasn’t the only one who was trying to hold back emotions.

“I’m glad you’re okay, my darling.” She then narrowed her eyes. “But if you and Ley weren’t going to drive me up the walls if you stayed indoors, you would be grounded for the entire summer.”

Hal looked down, sheepish. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.” He mumbled.

“Well, the faculty seems to be of the opinion that it was.” His aunt sighed. “They are commending you for your bravery instead of talking about expelling you for your recklessness.”

Hal looked back up, and allowed himself a winning grin. She shook her head fondly.

“Don’t do it again.” She chastised. “Ever. Honestly, you boys. Trouble has a way of finding you.”

She leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead, and Hal knew she was more relieved than mad.

“How did you get here?” He changed the subject. “Is Ley alone at home?”

“They did something to the chimney.” Petunia answered, looking a little distressed at the memory. “A… transportation system of some sort.”

The Floo, Hal guessed, remembering having read or heard something about that.

“Ley’s with the Petersons.” She added – their neighbours. “I’ll need to get back tonight.”

“I’ll be okay.” Hal assured her. “I just needed to rest, I’m not hurt or anything.”

It was true, though he decided not to mention he’d never felt pain like he felt through his scar at the time. The headache was gone now, there was no need to worry her even more.

“Just a few more days of school anyway.” He added.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I’ll see you very soon.”

Timid footsteps seemed to come near, then hover behind the curtains surrounding the bed, which Petunia pushed aside. Draco was on the other side, Little John Silver cradled in his arms. The young cat tried to jump off as soon as it saw Hal.

“Sorry.” Draco said, holding the squirming animal back. “I didn’t want to interrupt. He was crying.” He added, scratching Sil’s neck, then turned to Hal’s aunt. “Hello, Mrs Dursley.”

“Hello, Draco.” She smiled back.

“Give him here.” Hal made grabby hands for the kitten.

As soon as Draco released his hold, Little Silver jumped onto the bed and let Hal cuddle him, before he tried to pretend he was barely interested and settled on his lap with typical catlike condescension. Hal just kept stroking him, happy.

“I see you’re in good hands.” His aunt had a small chuckle.

She leaned in for a hug and a kiss, and repeated she’d see him soon, before heading out to find McGonagall before she left.

Draco sat down in her place.

“You were out for a while.” He said.

“So I’ve heard.” Hal nodded. “I’m alright, though.”

“The whole school is talking about us. Well. Mostly you.”

Hal looked down, burying his fingers in his cat’s fur for a minute, trying to cling to something normal.

“I really didn’t do much.” He said eventually.

“I guess…” Draco started hesitantly. “It doesn’t stop people from admiring you for it. In the same way you didn’t do much ten years ago – but still managed to end a war.”

Hal’s eyes snapped back up to his friend’s face. “Wait, they know about that too? I mean- I didn’t even-” He took a breath. “Do _you_ know what happened down there?”

“I do, but then I went to badger Sev until he told me everything.” Draco had a bashful smile. “The version that is going around is that the ghost of You-Know-Who infiltrated the castle, possessed Quirrell, and kidnapped you to steal a weapon that was hidden on the third floor, but you disintegrated him.”

“I- what?” Hal blinked at him. “How?”

“The details are getting more and more ridiculous from one version to the next.” Draco shrugged. “I don’t think anyone really cares that it doesn’t make sense. The bottom line is: you’re a hero.”

“Oh, that will be a nice change.” Hal said sarcastically.

“Hey, at least you’re famous for a good reason.” Draco reminded him.

Hal hummed noncommittally. Draco gave him a stern look.

“I get asked if it’s true that the ivory ornaments at Malfoy Manor are actually made from Muggle bones.” He insisted.

Hal couldn’t help but snort. “Are they?” He asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Draco chuckled. “Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me. You’re welcome to come and have a look.”

Hal wasn’t sure if it really was an invitation or not – which Draco seemed to notice.

“Seriously, you should come over sometime this summer. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d like that.” Hal said honestly. Living in a manor sounded _awesome_.

They made plans to discuss plans with their respective guardians, and Draco went to get Pomfrey to see if it would be alright for Hal to get out of bed (hiding Sil in his robes, the cat miraculously staying still and quiet as he did so). The matron came to check on him, and – seemingly reluctantly – agreed to let him go.

Hal had thought he was popular _before_. It became simply ridiculous. Twenty minutes after he’d left the infirmary with Draco, they had been accosted by at least a dozen people, all of which had offered admiration and congratulations, three of which had asked for his autograph, and, quite memorably, one of which (a second-year Hufflepuff) had asked him to marry her. He’d politely declined while Draco choked trying not to laugh too openly.

The next days passed in a bit of a haze, and before they knew it, it was the end of year feast. The Great Hall was in Slytherin colours, their House having come top of the ranking in spite of Gryffindor winning the Quidditch; but when Dumbledore got up (which everyone accepted with a repressed sigh, hoping the speech would be quick and the food on the table soon), instead of offering customary congratulations, he surprised everyone by saying:

“As you know, the House Cup rankings are not final until the very end of the year, and every student can still earn or lose points until they have alighted the train in King’s Cross.”

This wasn’t news to the students, although historically, either blind eyes had been turned or nothing anyone had ever done after the last classes of the year had ever made a difference, and the cup was always awarded at the feast.

“As such, in view of the events of the past two days.” The Headmaster continued with a glint in his eyes. “There are some last-minute points to award.”

Whispers ran across the hall, and Hal looked down at the table as he could see several heads turning towards him. It wasn’t hard to guess what the ‘events’ could possibly be.

“It is no secret at this point that a group of our students have risked their safety in order to prevent a crime within these walls.” Dumbledore proved him right as he carried on. “And the skills and bravery each of them has demonstrated deserves some reward.”

He allowed a small pause, and silence actually fell as the school waited with bated breath to hear any snippet of ‘official’ information about the whole showdown.

“For remarkable level-headedness allowing them both, in different ways, to use their skills and knowledge to protect their friends against danger, I award thirty points to Rolf Scamander, and thirty points to Neville Longbottom.”

Whistles and cheers erupted around the room, mostly from the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. Rolf looked slightly startled, and Neville turned a deep shade of pink. Dumbledore’s voice seemed to sound a little louder, no doubt magically enhanced, as the continued his enumeration to cover the sound of the bustling room.

“For the sensibility of retreating, acting wisely and fast in a time-sensitive situation and recognising that asking for help isn’t a sign of failure, twenty points to Draco Malfoy.”

Hal wondered briefly how this whole thing had gone from _going after Quirrell instead of warning a teacher is incredibly stupid_ to _asking for help isn’t a sign of failure_ , but he supposed he had to take the victory of none of them being in trouble, and earning their Houses points instead. It did say a lot however, in this opinion, about this school’s take on health and safety and child endangerment.

“For a remarkable game of chess with extremely high stakes, and for putting himself in the front line rather than his friends, fifty points to Ronald Weasley.”

More cheers sounded around them, and a shout of _That’s my brother!_ – which surprisingly, given how they both doubled over laughing, came from neither Fred nor George, but actually Percy.

“For being ready to face a troll, and for getting a wounded friend out of the line of fire, twenty points to Anthony Goldstein.”

Ravenclaws whooped and clapped, but the most calculating among them sagged in disappointment, well aware that although current points put them on top, two more Gryffindors in the celebrated group hadn’t received their rewards yet. And sure enough, the headmaster went on.

“For intelligence beyond her years, and for solving a riddle for which failure could have been death, fifty points to Hermione Granger.”

Hermione pursed her lips, like she was trying not to beam, but Hal could take she was chuffed, and she gave in and broke into a laugh when he grabbed her for a one-armed hug.

“And finally.” The room fell almost silent again. “For wanting to ensure the safety of others by preventing a potential disaster before it happened, and for his courage in facing a frightful enemy…” Hal held his breath as the old man paused for effect, and looked straight at him as he finished. “One hundred points to Harry Potter.”

What followed was deafening chaos, as all of Gryffindor realised the new point distribution meant they’d won the cup, beating Slytherin for the first time in years. The banners changed colour as Dumbledore clapped his hand, and everyone was still cheering as the food appeared on the tables – but the delicious offerings were enough to soon distract everyone, disappointed Slytherins included, in favour of stuffing their faces.

“So, Harry.” Percy Weasley addressed him when the first rush had calmed down a bit. He seemed in a good mood tonight. “What did you think of you first year at Hogwarts?”

“Pretty standard, wasn’t it?” Hal deadpanned.

From the look on Percy’s face, he didn’t know whether he was joking or not. From the snorts from his three brothers sitting nearby, they did.

“Not that school was boring before you came along.” George started.

“But I can’t wait for next year.” Fred finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you for your support through comments and kudos, I hope this had made people happy. This is the longest fic I've ever written/posted, and that's without considering there's meant to be 6 more of it!
> 
> I am rather fond of this verse and I really want to keep it up. I hope it won't be too long before I can start sharing the second book, writing is in progress! Ideas are welcome.


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